Once
by justlikebrokenglasstome
Summary: Once, they were alone. Once, they knew what the future held. Once, they had dreams and hopes. Once, they had everything they wanted. Of course, they were wrong. Maximum Ride/Harry Potter/Twilight crossover.
1. Birds of a Feather

**Heyy. This is my first fan-fiction, so please don't tear it limb from limb. XD. **

**This is set after the Final Warning and before the Half-Blood Prince in the summer holidays. But the year is 2009. **

**I had some problems with my e-mail account on my original penname, so I removed this story from it and here it is again on my new penname. Sorry.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter or Maximum Ride. I would use something tres witty to say this, but my imagination has pretty much gone flop! at the moment. **

**Max P.O.V.: **

At sunrise, the Flock and I landed smoothly on the slanting rooftop of a department store building in London.

Well, it probably _was _a department store building; there were chipped, sun dried mannequin dolls strewn about, the plaster distorted and waxy like the leftovers from _The House of Wax. _The less horror-movie stuff was just cardboard boxes with 'nylon pinafore' dresses written on the open flaps in Magic Marker pen.

Landing on the rooftop of a department building was pretty stupid, but the only other nearby skyscraper was the offices opposite – but all its thick curtains were drawn and lights blacked out. Which meant that even if a caretaker was roaming free, we'd be totally invisible.

Even if the humans on the path – with the occasional bagel in their hands that made my stomach somersault with hunger – glanced up, their stupid Dior turquoise wraparound shades (OK, perhaps that's an exaggeration) would put us as freakishly tall gargoyles – wings and all.

Rather than, for instance, mutant hybrids running amok.

Touché.

Anyway, the Voice had taken us to the boarding pass desk at the Arizonian Airport, and the dim-witted attendant that looked as though she couldn't tell a gumdrop from a hole in a wall, had 'surprisingly' found spare tickets on an international flight to Carlisle, coincidentally set that same day.

The Voice had said the London had 'new opportunities' for us, but unusually, not concerning a makeshift Itex, but from that far on, it had not elaborated. As usual, it preferred to watch us struggling through flying Erasers, living on an inappropriate diet of unsalted popcorn kernels, and then jumping in with Hallmark card crap whenever I least expected it.

You'd've thought it _planned_ it. Almost.

'Now what?' Fang said impatiently, folding his wings into his windbreaker unnecessarily coolly.

I quietly reminded myself to get new windbreakers. These were splitting at the thin stitching and becoming uncomfortably tight around our waistlines – Angel had had to resort to the desperate measure of using elastic to stretch hers further. _Not _that we were getting rounder, but we'd had these windbreakers since Colorado and we're growing flying mutants after all.

But anyway, I'd have to get windbreakers as soon as possible, without having to, as Total so charmingly put it: "_To break in, steal some stuff, break some stuff and escape in some dangerous, dramatic way_."

Or at least get them before our windbreakers ripped in public and revealed 14-foot wings to tourists with disposable cameras and palm trees on their Bermuda shorts. Eew.

'Now we climb down the fire escape,' I said calmly. Fang suppressed an exasperated sigh but followed suit and climbed down the rusty laddering to the partly empty road.

Total was shifted uncomfortably from flock member to flock member, Angel struggling but still determined and was put at a nearby parking meter by Iggy, writhing excitedly and sniffing the meter, seeming almost dog-like (for once). It had been unnecessary to cart Akila (apparently a Malamute is _not_ like a stuffed toy to those _so_ witty flight attendants), so, much to Total's whining; we'd left her in Arizona.

_Max. _

Midway down the fire escape, the Voice made a rude and uninvited guest appearance, which nearly made me fall off the now slippery laddering from so many sweaty fingers, and swallow a shriek. Fang glanced at me in mild curiousity, but kept climbing slowly down, casting me suspicious, worried looks.

_Shit, Voice, are you trying to give me a heart attack? _

_Not now, Maximum. I'm giving you a battle plan. Or at least a … demonstration_.

Oh, thank God. The Voice. The Voice had constructive _plans_, not just fortune cookie crap that is hardly ever used in fortune cookies.

_Go find Albus Dumbledore._

OK. That was _not_ such a kickass battle plan. Not even a demonstration! Was 'demonstration' a Voice metaphor to lighten its guilt (bless its gold-plated heart) for its fortune-cookie clichés? But I was willing to listen, in case it unexpectantly changed tack and I missed it. Knowing my luck.

_And what else? _I said patiently.

_Look into the bigger picture, Maximum. Albus Dumbledore._

_Um, ok. That's it? _

The Voice was, predictably, silent.

_What else, Voice? Voice? VOICE? _

The Voice had abandoned me. AGAIN! It had lured me, Maximum Ride, into _willingness_ for that long, _long _overdue bombshell and then totally disappeared. I wondered if the Voice did that on purpose or whether it was just in its contract.

God, it was just as annoying as Fang, whenever he _nearly_ speaks, but then suddenly decides to simply shrug innocently and eat a honey-roasted peanut and act as if nothing more exciting had happened than me nearly face-planting the pavement after tripping over a crack. Or something along those lines.

I dropped from the rusty laddering on my soles, which were peeling away from the rubbery uppers of my sneakers and nearly slipped on greasy wrappings. I've been really clumsy recently and I fully blame my Mom's chocolate-chip cookies. Fang snickered, until I glared at him, and his regained his silent emo guy composure almost instantly. What was _with_ him lately?

The department building we'd landed on was Purge and Dowse Ltd, its windows displaying chipped mannequin dolls modelling nylon pinafore dresses (incidentally, the same mannequin dolls lying carelessly on the rooftop minus the _House of Wax_ features) and 'Closed for Refurbishment' boards on its dusty doors.

Eyelashes were falling off the dummies, and a woman with heavily laden shopping bags said 'it's _never_ open, that place' to her friend as she passed. Nudge looked as if she'd swallowed an unsweetened lemon as she glanced, partly unimpressed and partly horrified at a fairly ugly mannequin doll wearing a pale green nylon pinafore dress.

'Ok, so we climbed down the fire escape,' Fang said less-than-happily (he's such a ray of sunshine), 'so now do we wait in subway tunnels along with the emo runaways?'

'If it is emo runaways, you should fit perfectly,' I said with vindictive sweetness, swallowing my more spiteful comeback. Although smart-alecky and hostile is more my style, vindictive sweetness works for me too, especially in Fang-like purposes. 'And _no_. The Voice said to look for Albus … uh … Dumbledore.'

'Albus Dumbledore,' said Iggy thoughtfully, 'so we start in the Piccadilly Circus?' He smiled with unconvincing innocence and Angel unwilling giggled. Nudge chuckled but refrained (thankfully) from bursting into unwanted suggestions, and Fang smirked, which nearly immediately vanished.

BANG!

**To be continued …**

**Next chappie coming shortly! **

**Hope you liked it! Please R&R!**

**Emma **


	2. Angels' Wings and Angel's Wings

**Disclaimer: Still not owning either. Imagination is still bust. But isn't writing imagination? So maybe my imagination is just lacking in the disclaimer department. Typical.**

**Max P.O.V:**

BANG!

Fang swore. A violently purple bus had appeared from thin air, squeezing through a sunshine-yellow SUV and a lime Buggy with apparent ease and clumsily parallel parked, as if the driver was steering blindly behind thick incomprehensible spectacles.

The humans surrounding us had momentarily paused to glance curiously at us over their turquoise wraparound shades, some concerned, others totally careless as if us jumping involuntarily had been some act rather than total surprise.

Apparently none had seen the violently purple bus materializing. Which may, you know, have been a good thing, as the driver of the SUV was now cussing at the Buggy as the purple bus had accidentally on purpose scraped diagonal lines on his fancy paintwork but as the purple bus was apparently invisible, it was because of the Buggy.

But just as quickly as it had appeared, with a further vibrating _bang! _the violently purple bus disappeared leaving nothing but completely unexplainable violet tire skids that soon vanished into the tarp. Meanwhile the Buggy driver was reacting with particularly explicit hand gestures.

* * *

'Well, that went well,' Fang said sarcastically, impaling a Pop-Tart on a stick with unnecessary malice.

'You're supportive,' I said snidely, scooping out peanut butter on a spoon. Fang gave me a dry, unsmiling glance, but merely turned to prod his baking Pop-Tart thoughtfully.

We'd camped impulsively in a deserted field that was more like a forest clearing roped off with orange triangular flags and had felt shamrocks lying stripped in thin fragments in the long grass.

Instead of sleeping on the forest clearing ground, we'd bought thick, woollen blankets and collapsible woodland tents from an outdoor supplies store, with our Max Card platinum American Express that thankfully worked on a British ATM.

Apart from Ig's disagreement with the sales assistant on the best collapsible woodland tent spot (the attendant said a waterless riverbed to avoid windstorms but Iggy said on an slope to avoid floods), which nearly ended in us being Tasered until Angel quickly intervened – but apart from that, it couldn't have been smoother.

Now with the younger kids and Iggy sleeping undisturbed – apart from the uncharacteristic frowning – Fang and I were lowly talking near the hot embers of a slowly flickering fire, spearing strings of jam Pop-Tarts on broken sticks fallen from the nearby pines.

The library we'd visited was serene and glassy, with arched opaque silvery windows and symmetrical white floorboards, that gave us involuntarily shivers, but with the soft humming of the computer, which we unusually like, we forgot the library's School complexion.

We would've used Fang's PC, but apparently, even with its permanent satellite linkup, it still needs to be charged in the passing months, like normal laptops – so while we used Yahoo! People Search, Nudge had disabled a computer's cable as a charger for Fang's PC.

I sighed. Our search for this Albus Dumbledore had been so plainly ineffective, I was wondering if he'd ever existed, or had simply disappeared from Yahoo! People Search or if "Dumbledore" was another psycho Voice metaphor.

"I … I think that … maybe … Purge & Dowse is … the place to be,' I said quietly, waiting apprehensively for the smirk and the snort of disbelieving that never, surprisingly, came from Fang. Instead he leant backwards calmly, gazing at me thoughtfully, as if he was almost considering this. 'It seems like it … just is,' I finished somewhat lamely.

'I know,' Fang said simply, (I nearly spluttered on my toasted marshmallow s'more) 'and I feel the same.'

'OK,' I said calmly, but I was quietly suppressing a nervous feeling near my bellybutton, like a sinking lurch of impending vomit - or like an arising suspicion of a disaster way more trouble that it was worth. 'Wake the flock at daybreak.'

**Ooooooohhh. Durn durn durn. Sorry, I would've updated sooner but I couldn't login! But it's all good now :D.**

**Harry coming in next chapter!**

**To be continued! Please review!**


	3. Will or won't? And which is witch?

**Third chappie!**

**Just me and my awesome triple mousse birthday cake. Eeew, chocolate just fell on my keyboard. It's my birthdee tomorrow. This is my gift to YOU. **

**Harry P.O.V: **

'Harry?'

'Hermione!' I spluttered, drawing the thick woollen quilt to cover my Ireland Quidditch Team sweatshirt pyjamas. Hermione was in blurry two dimensional, oddly distorted and waxy without my glasses, and as I shuffled idly for them, I accidentally slapped Ron.

Well, all I could see was an orange Chudley Cannons hearthrug, cross-stitched and threadbare on the pale ash floorboards as well as Hermione stifling her giggles, so it wasn't done on purpose, despite Ron's swearing to the contrary.

'Ow! Damn it! Wha – Hermione?' Ron gazed at her mixed emotions, mostly horror, cowering in his maroon pyjamas as to look as dishevelled as possible, the maroon sleeves pressed on his gingery hair for no apparent reason. 'You – you …' he stammered with unflattering gestures.

'Mrs. Weasley wants us to be ready in twenty minutes,' Hermione said complacently and ambled slowly out with impressive coolness to the wafting smell of burnt toast from downstairs. At the doorway, she turned.

'Oh – and Ronald?' Hermione smirked, 'awesome pyjamas.'

Ron gagged and reddened, his ears resembling curls of raw beef. I pulled off my Ireland Quidditch Team sweatshirt pyjamas and crumpled the thin material folds in and stuffed it under my pillow. I slipped on a Weasley's Wizarding Wheeze T-shirt as Ron paled, still gawping horror-struck at the empty doorway.

'Ron? Are you –?'

But Ron was looking punch-drunk, and as I wriggled uncomfortably into Dudley's Levi jeans, he flopped backwards onto the Chudley Cannons bedspread with a sickening, melonlike splat as his elbow hit the wooden bed frame.

* * *

'Are we Apparating?'

Ron had appeared afterwards as we were eating hash browns, rubbing his swollen elbow, in a jumper whose knitting pattern looked like it was put in a washing machine's spin-cycle, and camouflage cargo pants from a Muggle charity shop in London.

'No, dear,' Mrs. Weasley said, pressing on the tufts of unbrushed hair with a wet comb, 'Apparating to wizarding buildings is too conspicuous, it attracts Death Eater's attention to the wizards wandering alone, rather than in groups –' She now was picking curly lint fluff off Ron's knitted jumper and smoothing the thick fold lines. '- And Side-Along Apparition is jinxed to detect under-aged magic.'

'Oh,' Ron put chocolate spread on a crumpet, spraying crunchy-nut chunks, 'so … the ... Knight Bus?'

* * *

'I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,' Hermione muttered, as the Knight Bus gave a further sickening lurch, so my stomach somersaulted as I felt the hash browns flipping unhappily.

She clutched the wicker chair with unnecessary force as it went sliding as the bus rolled to a splattering halt, its tires screeching the tarp.

Hermione drew in shuddering, racking breaths, looking as though she wanted to collapse, tried to regain her steady composure and wobbled unsteadily to her feet on the footpath outside St. Mungo's Hospital.

The battle at the Ministry of Magic had not slipped into silence. Tonks was in the spell damage ward, for a Death Eater splintering her ribcage and swollen an internal organ to make it diseased and sprout pus boils, and she'd had been rushed into the wing for emergency bone re-grown and poisoning antidote potions.

Her recovery was expected by Saturday, and so far the swelling had gone done and most of the pus boils had disappeared.

Mad-Eye had been hit with a curse that took clotted chunks from his upper arms and his exposed calf muscles from his shredded robes and it had left a smell like Ripper the bulldog's uncleaned kennel whenever his dressings were changed.

Professor Lupin had been attacked with silver forks, as werewolves can only use bronze cutlery, and the silver forks had left inflamed, reddened welts and purply-green bruises on his forearms and chest and had to take Blood-Replenishing potions to stop the scorch marks bleeding anew.

We visited them whenever possible, usually by Side-Along Apparition until the Ministry's infiltrators jinxed it to detect underage magic and have an opportunity to arrest the innocent wizards that accidentally disappeared and reappeared.

I sighed. The Ministry of Magic. I remembered Sirius' memorial service – a depressing careless and unnecessary makeshift funeral in the shallow depths of the Hogwart's Lake. Admittedly, the giant squid wasn't too impressed by the thornless roses (in Sirius' tribute) floating like boats on the lake's surface, and, sure enough, a turquoise speckled tentacle had burst unexpectantly up and scooped the roses to the deep aquatic bottom with the merpeople and the Grindylows.

Sitting cross-legged on the gravelly asphalt were unrecognisable Muggles, with loose windbreakers and puzzled glances, looking tense and worried – but were, confusingly, staring at the Knight Bus now disappearing through the traffic's intersection. But the Knight Bus is supposed to be invisible to Muggles – isn't it?

A four-legged animal suspiciously like a Scottie terrier, writhing excitedly in the Muggle with the dishevelled blonde curl's arms, sniffing the air happily and I glimpsed its canine jaws moving momentarily, but in a second glance, it looked like a regular dog. Or an Animagus. Hmm.

But I sensed no magical activity off them – though Hermione was eyeing the Muggles suspiciously, as if she thought otherwise, but refrained from commenting. The Muggles temporarily glimpsed at us, not suspiciously, but not with interest – but like they knew we were wizards.

But they couldn't. Could they?

**CLIFFHANGER! Next chappie coming by Monday ... or after my camp. Please R&R!**


	4. Air Collision: Flight or fight?

**Max P.O.V:**

'I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.'

Nudge rolled the collapsible tent into the duffle bag, and folded the loose flaps into triangles – the brittle cord made it like a lumpily stuffed sausage roll, but khaki-coloured, not pastry.

'I know, sweetie,' I said with tense impatience, 'but it won't be for long.'

At daybreak, Nudge had sleepily awoken, stretching her wings and the tawny feathers accidentally slicing thin, diagonally parallel cuts on my cheek, like soft but apparently spiky knives, and had levered herself like a broken fork-lift in supposedly upright, but was more double-bent from her waist, like a marionette whose puppet-strings had been cut.

Nudge is _not_ a morning person.

Angel had been curled like a hedgehog in the woollen outdoor blankets; sleeping convincingly, even giving snores, though I had the impression she'd hardly slept at all. Which meant what?

Fang had to resort to grabbing Ig's skinny ankles and dragging him from their collapsible woodland tent, but Iggy had accidentally grab a canvas fold that was supposed to be the roof and had cocooned Iggy in synthetic mats, netting and connectable poles. It had been pretty funny.

Now Ig was popping unsalted popcorn kernels on a pan – the closest to cornflour and the closest to a sesame-seed roll and I was pulling the ring-pulls on sugar-free orange-flavoured soda cans. I was craving a mocha latte from Starbucks and hoped the platinum American Express had a coffeehouse discount. I really needed the caffeine.

After eating, we tucked the collapsible tent duffle bags and folded outdoor blankets into a hollowed pine tree, (carrying would weigh too much), its concave hidden by spiky pine needles and leafy brush and flew southeast at 15,000 feet.

We landed on a laundrette shop, thirty to forty feet in distance of Purge and Dowse Ltd, and then walked to the department store, trying to conspicuously blend with the turquoise wraparound shades of the curiously staring and occasionally surprised humans, hoping our scruffy windbreakers from Target didn't really stick out from Dior. But they did.

We sat apprehensively cross-legged on the gravely asphalt, looking innocently sleepy and dull, but kept suppressing our confused glances; and Total was wriggling nervously in Angel's arms, though it looked more like excitement.

**BANG!**

We barely jumped as the violently purple bus careered shakily into a parallel parking space, with sickening lurch, its occupants splattering onto the double-glazed window panes, and rolling to a halt with a screeching of brakes.

Before it had disappeared apparently without passengers, but now people clambered, or more like staggered, from the steps and collapsed like rag-dolls on the asphalt, drawing in hacking breaths. One was even clinging unsteadily to a light-stand.

I took in their appearances subtly – not Eraser replacements; none were demonstrating leopard fangs like Mara or popping in dislocated shoulder joints like Omega, but not like the people at Virginia High.

I wasn't much concerned about the woman carrying a lumpy bag with a crooked knitting pattern, like it was stuffed with cotton – she was too old to be an Eraser replacement, let alone a still living, twisted experiment of Itex's.

The School tended to use embryos, foetuses developed enough to be babies, and to have their DNA altered with amniocentesis without the kids collapsing as soon as they were stuffed into the test-tubes. And possibly in her mid-forties, she would've already pre-expired. And Eraser replacements never carried knitted purses. Only Tasers.

Fang was coolly glancing at them, his dark amber eyes only lingering subtly and immediately moving on, like he was just gazing at the hardware store diagonally opposite innocently, rather than the staggering group, now staring at us curiously and suspiciously unblushingly, which alerted my paranoia.

Again.

* * *

**Harry P.O.V:**

'Death Eaters?' Ginny murmured, uncharacteristically frowning, though she struggled to smoothen it into impassive and careless.

'Not Death Eaters,' Hermione muttered, trying Legilimency wandless, but gazing curiously and unblushingly at their temples was making them cast prickly looks.

'Merge,' I said quietly, subtly gesturing to a thick crowd of shoppers, all wearing turquoise wraparound shades, which was apparently the European Muggle fashion and carrying wicker baskets and store bags and they followed suit.

* * *

_You are reading Fang's blog. Welcome!_

_You are visitor number: 570, 366_

_Today was freaking weird – possibly even more freakier weird than normal, which is pretty freaking weird as opposed to regular weird in normal people's lives. Apparently there are many weirdoes out there, some who take pride, and some who take offence. We do neither, as neither generally applies to our 'fight 'n' flight' situations. __Max has been acting on, not a floating subconsciousness that is a supposed Voice of Jeb – now apparently not Jeb (it's the "bigger picture", Max tells me) or e-mail, but perception. We, the flock, are very perceptive of people. We don't trust, nor forgive, easily, and to be honest, who can blame us? The world isn't split into good people and bad people, otherwise known as the Flock versus the Itex Director and Co. The world is split into so much more than that. More than kids with 3 per cent avian DNA altered into their blood stem. There are people, out there, that are not even 97 per cent human. And guess what? These people aren't even genetically mutated. So is this a collision of the bird kids verus … what? _

_Fang_

**Possibly the last chappie before camp! If so, this means 4-5 days for an update! I tried hard! Love you all. Please R&R! Oh yes, I know that Fang's blog is now not being blogged on, but in this, I wanted to bring it back, because I miss their blog. RIP . . **

**randomperson (): **I do accept anonymous reviews but maybe your submission stuffed up.  Glad it's working now.

**EdwardCullenIsCoolerThanYou: **I know! I'm a horrible person! But cliffhangers is how I roll. Or bounce. Whichever you prefer. XD


	5. Wizards Don't Need Wings to Fly

**Max P.O.V:**

We waited. And waited.

The people had merged into a throng of shoppers and disappeared; blending like they were Eraser replacements that Itex had put, like chameleon DNA into their chromosomes.

And then it rained. Apparently London is, like, permafrost and frozen hot chocolate, and the rain was more on the "thunderstorms" scale: a downpour of raindrops and hailstones like icy bullets, raining off the asphalt and bouncing into the drainpipes. Rather than Miami's "sunny with unseasonal hurricanes" like we preferred.

Gazzy sang Spongebob Squarepants by Weird Al Yankovic, sounding like the CD track, over and over, so surprised passers-by dropped pennies into his Chicago Bears football cap. Angel convinced an innocent bystander sipping an espresso coffee in a Styrofoam mug from a Starbucks coffeehouse to borrow her umbrella.

Nudge kept Yahoo! People Searching Albus Dumbledore on Fang's laptop, slapping the keyboard in frustration in frequent intervals after it downloaded blank. She was also swearing in Spanish, which she took online lessons for in the summer, until Fang made her promise not, in a fit of unexpected temper, to try and smash his PC with the wooden umbrella handle.

Iggy had found Old Maid playing cards and the flock, amidst their other rainy-day activities, were trying to play Snap, occasionally shuffling the stray cards sideways to avoid trampling footsteps. Total was surprisingly quiet, like a Scottie terrier from the pound, licking his muddy paws.

Suddenly, after two hours, the surroundings now of wet autumn leaves, the people reappeared, alone, but not carrying store bags, just umbrellas, and the bag with the wonky knitting pattern that was no longer lumpy, like it was stuffed with wet cotton, but flat and dishevelled.

They glanced at the flock curiously but tentatively, like waiting for us to throw a falling bomb, and see them go two dimensional like our occasional, but not unheard of, flock splatter art. And they approached …

* * *

'Scatter,' Fang murmured.

We stood in sync and melted into an oncoming parade marching on the High Street, camouflaged by the painted canvas banners and clowns carrying balloons of elasticised latex so crimson candles cast a musky, reddish glow.

We wended ten foot apart in a horizontal stack, to be just visible with our avian eyesight but not totally evident from afar. But the people kept following, appearing too close, but surprisingly, didn't attack.

'Merge.' The flock slipped under a carnival float and kept following at a slow pace as the driver in a bronze 1954 Volkswagen Beetle remake shuffled the float as the pageant took a right for the upcoming intersection. 'Bandada, north. Beeheet, north, north west. See-chass, north east, rounded at the intersection to north. Iggy, follow on.'

The flock split, shuffling from the paraders and then gathered in the storeroom of a Chinese restaurant left at the intersection that eventually followed into a fork, the right to the concert park of the parade and the left to the city's bounds.

We slipped into a corridor, the shelves stuffed with sugared fortune-cookies, bags of dried sesame noodle strings, and jars of spicy onion 'n' sweet chilli sauce. We leant on the cupboards opposite, that gave an outlook on the entwining aisle from the doorway, Nudge putting prawn crackers into her rucksack.

'What?' Nudge said shiftily, appearing uncharacteristically guilty, zipping up her now lumpy rucksack, struggling with the clip on the uncomfortably tight straps. 'It's buying. I put forty pounds in a ziplock Glad Wrap bag in a jar of pickled tentacles.'

'I can live with that,' Iggy said, happily shrugging after a long, surprised pause, and stuffed dried spring rolls and a jar of sweet plum sauce into his rucksack.

* * *

After 10 minutes, I crept round the storeroom doorframe that led to a landing off the entwining aisle that had shelves of artificial flavouring and sweeteners and skirted a big freezer cabinet of concealed sweet 'n' sour pork.

The flock followed in my wake, our footsteps pattering on the cold steel floorboards and the occasional grimace at pickled squid chunks floating like brain tissue in salted water, or someone picking up a sesame snap biscuit and dropping pounds into the blank Tupperware container. We took a left to the back exit and then –

'Aarrrgh!'

**SMACK!**

* * *

HARRY P.O.V:

'Aarrrgh!'

**SMACK!**

A fist collided with the bone structure of my nose, splintering the nasal bone with a sickening crunch … and then blood was pouring thickly in clots from my nostrils, staining the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes T-shirt in crimson.

'AHA! Death Eaters!'

Not cursing us with an unforgivable hex, the Muggles merely looked surprised and innocently confused, taken aback by the wands that must've looked like hostile birch twigs sticking accusingly at them.

'_What_? Death Eaters?' the girl with the floaty blonde layers said impatiently, neglecting an apology for breaking my nose like it was a freaking eggshell. Ginny unhappily stuffed her wand in the folds of her parka, but innocently, like it was just a stick – and though the Muggles were glaring in the opposite direction, by their flickering glances, it was clear they'd noticed, and were suspicious.

'Mistake,' Hermione said smoothly as Ron fished Kleenex tissues from his knitted jumper sleeves while juggling his wand clumsily, 'we're participants in a Special Ed emergency training program for the … uh … sufferers of child abuse. It was an accident of the … erm … obstacle course and it won't – won't happen again.'

The Muggles didn't look as if they believed it, but they let it slide.

'Fine,' the girl said coolly with a further unnecessary glare, and she apparently turned for the entwining aisles that led to the exit, but she unexpectantly stopped, her pitch unnervingly, suddenly, odd. 'Um … is it … what's the … purple bus for?'

'The purple bus?'

'It keeps appearing and then disappearing,' she explained, still sounding somewhat apprehensive but I got the distinct, worrying impression she'd seen us staggering, like on the brink of a nervous collapse, down the rickety steps of the Knight Bus, 'at Purge & Dowse Ltd, though apparently nobody is boarding as a passenger.'

'Oh, really?' Hermione kept her pitch airy and non-committal, though she appeared to be trembling with tense anticipation and I knew chameleon ghouls and Disillusionment Charms was running as a possibility through her mind. And Mad-Eye trying to board the Knight Bus in a desperate escape attempt from the hospital ward, under his spare Invisibility Cloak, last week, 'I wouldn't know why that would be.'

'Hmm,' she said, sounding disbelieving, and they slipped down a corridor of sweet corn grains in ceramic pots, one accidentally brushing Hermione's parka, leaving nothing but completely unexplainable crushed prawn crackers from the Scottie terrier following in their wake.

* * *

Max P.O.V:

'That was close,' Gazzy murmured, popping the lid on a Tupperware container of sesame snap biscuits, but didn't elaborate.

'I know,' Nudge unscrewed the sealed lid of the spicy onion and sweet chilli sauce and dipped a disposable spoon in, stirring it thoughtfully and then licking it contentedly. 'I felt … secrets … and lies and confusion, when I accidentally on purpose brushed her parka.'

'I couldn't read their minds,' Angel said unhappily, and Gazzy gave her a peanut prawn cracker like a consolation prize. 'But we won't collide … I think …' We sat on a park bench, the flock squashed like sardines in a can on the wooden slats, Iggy propped unsteadily on the steel armrest and Total curled at a rickety leg. We ate more sesame snap biscuits coated in sweet chilli sauce for a long, long time.

'Or not,' Fang said quietly.

**I'm back!! **

**To most people: Thanks for reminding me that they're 2 per cent avian … my mistake. Now I remember! **

**TeamVampire: You'll have to wait and see … ****Also, I am trying to get a beta-reader, but there's a few minor drawbackers at the moment, most which are word expectations. ): **

**To anyone who wants to know: I had a pretty good time at camp. Except me and my friend's tent collapsed from all the wind after two hours of pitching it, so after the camp ended and we were meant to roll it back up, there was this MASSIVE stag-beetle scuttling in all the wet dirt inside, and I kind of screamed. Actually, I screamed a lot. Ha ha. **

**Please R&R! **


	6. Wings versus Broomsticks

**Warning: The following may be sounding pretty graphic and violent, but since today's Powerpuff Girls can be focused on violence, I think you'll be able to handle it. **

**Max P.O.V:**

Surprisingly, Fang's predication came true in a few days.

We were in the village grocery store in Ottery St. Catchpole, putting slice 'n' bake chocolate-chip cookies into our trolley, and the unexpected surprise of them walking past the windows in the foyer of supermarket benches caused me to run the trolley into a shelf, smashing a dent in the bread-bag section and having an assistant to chuck a peaches 'n' syrup tin at me.

You see, the School used to use electronic cables to stimulate our synaptic nerve endings – the brain cells that focus on reflexes, and in effect, would throw supposedly 'non-throwable' objects like knives, scissors, the occasional odd brick at us, at the most unpredictable times in the training yards – during relay practices, fighting events and so on.

Our reactions were recorded as 'ducking, dodging, army-rolling' and even 'post-throwing reaction syndrome' whenever we threw the nearest, heaviest and most likely to hurt object back, such as a bench-pressing set or a javelin spear. So now our reflexes are 10 per cent more acute than the average human, and anything that apparently threatens us is guaranteed, a reaction, probably a stupid reaction, but a reaction nonetheless.

Anyway, he missed, but I couldn't help responding by accidentally on purpose flinging a slippery crocodile heart from the frozen selection of meats. He slipped and collided with a surprisingly loud _thunk_ in the juice bottles shelves, bursting a bottle of blackcurrant juice on the aisle's tiled floorboards and causing a six-pack of passionfruit punch to whack him over the head, knocking him nearly unconscious.

Ten minutes later, the flock landed in the forest clearing and gathered up the duffle bags of collapsible tents and stuffed the rolled-up woollen blankets into our rucksacks. We flew southeast towards a campsite in the opposite direction of Ottery St. Catchpole – the Forest of Dean, dropping the disposable Tupperware containers into a recycling park bin as we flew overhead.

Then I heard it. It was rhythmical whirling but in a rickety pitch, like a wood chipper crossed with a smoothie blender. I let the duffle bags fall to earth, not seeing where they landed in the long grasses, but hearing the muffled bangs on rocky pebbles, and launched at a Flyboy.

I roundhouse kicked its spine, but it surprisingly didn't snap, just hollowly crunched, like it'd been dislocated; but the robot stretched its back sideways until it's spine clicked into place was sickening _pop! _The _pop_ gave me involuntary shivers, but I dismissed it, and pulled the robot's arm at an unnatural angle, ripping it from its socket, leaving nothing but the smell of cordite from bullets, and burnt fuse-wires, suspiciously like the wires in an iPod data port, dangling from the hole.

Fang had a three-on-one, but he'd disabled their Tasers and swung the holders in wide arcs, so it dislocated the robot's cables and connector rods as its bones, implanted in the metal; and a blow to approximately where their temples were supposed to be, according to the shaggy, wolf-like Eraser fur, ensured several would crash to the pebbly ground.

Nudge wrapped her fingers around a Flyboy's neck in the stranglehold position with enough raw pressure to snap the muscles embedded in its neck, judging by the spluttering pre-programmed noise issuing from its voice recorder, and she kicked a heavy footfall into the middle of its spine, so it literally bent backwards into an upside V-shape. It fell 15,000 feet and crash-landed close to Fang's.

Iggy and Gazzy were immediately somewhat paralysing Flyboys by delivering accurate punches between where their Adam's apples were supposed to be and above their furry collarbones, and that somehow fizzled out the fighting instinct in they Flyboy's programming and failed their brain cell's reactions.

Angel was pressing on a Flyboy's neck pressure point – between its collarbone and jugular vein, so it was cricking unpleasantly as its pulleys and joints surrounding from its chest were unravelling and short-circuiting, wires plucking like broken violin-strings from its screwed-on neck. Apparently Flyboy version 2.5 was more like a human Eraser replacement – with less design flaws, but more human-like faults.

'_Incendio_!'

* * *

**Harry P.O.V:**

We were in the kitchen playing Exploding Snap on a threadbare stove hearthrug, Ron shuffling a deck to make a pyramid of the cards that wouldn't explode and leave a burning pile of colourful squared ashes.

Fleur was using the scrubbed wooden table to spread out her three-dimensional seating plan that was rotating slowly clockwise, enlarging and zooming in on areas with each tape of her wand and had little wiggling moving figures on its surface. Mrs. Weasley was stirring a pot of soup, dropping chopped onion slices from the board into the bubbling chicken stock and a knife was self-buttering a pile of bread.

There was a disturbance outside: muffled banging and the sound of clanging metal, the occasional screaming followed by a stifled slapping. I leapt from the floorboards to the broomstick cupboard, searching through the sweeping brooms to the Quidditch broomsticks placed carefully in hanging racks: Fred and George's Cleansweep Fives and Ron's Comet Two Ninety. My Firebolt was in its broomstick case: I ripped off the press-studs and pulled out the Spanish oak handle in a flurry of streamlined twigs and rustling paper lining.

'Harry,' Hermione said, somewhat frantically, 'we'd be breaking the restriction on under-aged magic – and this could hardly be called life threatening … especially if we're fighting for_ strangers_! Even though you've been cleared of all charges, the Voldemort anti-Harry-Potter movement is likely to get you rather more than a disciplinary hearing or an official warning, more like expell-'

'- Hermione!' I interrupted in exasperation, '_not now_.' My impatience kept her oddly subdued and her counter-arguments were uncharacteristically at bay as she shakily clambered onto her borrowed broomstick.

The Burrow is in a woodland glade, surrounded by pines trees and permanently grassy hillocks, apparently invisible to the eye and the funnel of the tallest chimney is only visible if the brittle branches of the pines and needles were separated with a forklift. The disturbance was beyond the furthest hill, and the scene in the sky was … unbelievable.

For what I mistook for feathery kites floating in the breeze was apparently wings: resembling the wings of birds - like desert hawks; a seabird – such as an albatross or a seagull; of a pheasant or sparrow; an owl and possibly a swan or a snow petrel. But these wings weren't from unnaturally enlarged birds – these wings were somehow attached by possibly a spine indentation on the backs of the humans. Or, rather, the 'Muggle' humans from Purge & Dowse Ltd.

We flew down to examine the ground scenery: burning shrapnel and crushed metal was embedded in the long grasses; looking suspiciously like amputated metal limbs covered in a wolfish fur, and broken wiring of imploded cables. Hermione took a chunk of what appeared to be a burnt arm, with fibre-optic cables implanted into the makeshift bones, or pulleys, more like, and examined it with a kind of disgusted interest.

According to her, they appeared to have a metal bone structure, so Stunning and Body-Bind curses would only affect the outer layer of wolfish fur but would bounce off the metal limbs. She suggested for_ Incendio_ and _Reducto _curses; as they were flammable and blasting them aside would be capable of burning. The Impedimenta Jinx would slow them down and _Diffindo _would split their joints apart so their insides would be able to burn more easily. I outstretched my wand.

'_Incendio_!'

**Part 2 coming shortly …**

**Please review!!**

**twilight-h.p.-maxride4ever:** All will be revealed shortly … XD

**Tem ():** Thanks!! I love that word: kudos! It makes me think of dominos for some reason.

**Sarra Elizabeth: **If there is anything you want me to explain, do not hesitate to ask! I will explain anything you want. Oh yes: and Thestrals are like these big, winged, skeletal horses. I think I explained some of the hexes too.

**emz23hilski**: No, they didn't steal her wand, because they didn't know what it was. Also, Hermione's wand was in her hand still.

**Teamvampire:** Thanks!

**Kitty Bridgeta**: LOL. I got so freaked I had to get Mr. Mac to flick it out for me! Gosh, I am such a wimp.


	7. Broomsticks versus Wings

**Heyy everyone! Had an eventful week. Some idiot flung a stinkbomb down the year eight corridor!**

**Max P.O.V: **

'_Incendio_!'

The Flyboy immediately burst into surprisingly purple flames, like it had been dipped in gasoline, the fire shattering it into burning shrapnel and thawing the fibre-optic cables giving the impression it was melting from inside its hollowed, wired chest.

The flock's expressions were composed and unresponsive, but from their twitchy movements and wary, apprehensive stares, I knew they were searching for a version 1.5 Omega replacement (while kicking the remaining Flyboys to a metallic pulp) and not trying to make fireballs capable of burning the average, apparently 'improved' Flyboy model.

Then Nudge screamed. I inhaled a surprised breath – and not just because a lopsided Flyboy had managed to scissor-kick approximately above my kidney. I grabbed its neck and twisted in a 180 until with a cricking _snap_, its pulleys unravelled and the neck separated from the burning metallic body, crashing it to the ground and leaving me with a decapitated robot head. Eew. That was just ... trippy. But anyway, I inhaled for a completely different reason.

A reason that made my brain wildly try to process an explanation that didn't involve complex holographic virtual-reality systems or a Valium-induced daydream for Itex to monitor my heartbeat. After a moment of thought, my brain finally concluded that this wasn't some weird, freakishly unnatural Itex involvement. It was real. Holy c –

'Duck, Max!' Fang yelled, and I instinctively rolled backwards, as a limp metal arm punched the air ineffectively. Fang flew over and grabbed the Flyboy's wrist, twisting it painfully backwards, followed by a jarring upwards movement that popped it from its socket. The Flyboy's pre-programmed voice box made a racking breath from its newly embedded pain receptors.

I sailed upwards like a rocket, and fell hard on a Flyboy's metal shoulders on its pressure points and clasped my shins around its neck, dragging it backwards into a jerky somersault, metal limbs breaking apart and it fell, smoke steaming. Then I launched sideways, momentarily distracted, to survey the scene playing before my disbelieving, yet unusually not lying, eyes.

_Broomsticks. _

Well, OK.

* * *

**Harry P.O.V: **

In five minutes, all the robots lay shattered in burning metal in the long grasses, unprecedented chunks of metallic bodies strewn through at least three surrounding fields and an explosion of coloured wiring in a stunted tree.

The flyers were tentatively rubbing their limbs for splintered bones and one was pressing into an apparent stitch above her kidney, cringing from a robotic snap-kick. Ginny had a swelling welt on her cheek from a falling piece of burning shrapnel and Ron was cradling a sprained shoulder from a robot kicking him unexpectantly from the opposite direction, but other than that, nobody was seriously injured.

'What … _are you_?'

'Some things are better not knowing,' the girl, Max apparently, said quietly, her ash-blonde plait falling out in wispy, layered chunks and she flicked her long fringe behind her ears impatiently. I snorted disbelievingly and Hermione stifled a derisive snicker. Six heads turned in slow deliberation at us, followed by sarcastic, even more disbelieving but possibly in a different way, stares from the winged children.

'Some things are better not knowing for a _reason_,' Max said, snarling characteristically it appeared, as her flock's twitching lips looked as though they were suppressing giggles rather than being completely intimidated, as we were. This was weirdly comforting, and seemed to calm the others: Ron's unpredictable temper swing looked less likely to happen and Hermione stopped looking noticeably frightened.

The girl with the dishevelled blonde curls stared at me in unexpected surprise with wide, reassuring eyes, the exact colour of a blue Popsicle. And then, for some reason, they all simultaneously burst out into laughter, except for Max who was still looking as if she was wondering if we had a death wish. And the dark-haired boy who didn't look as though laughter was apart of his emotions, remaining unusually silent.

'It's helping them relax, Max,' the girl said happily. I suppressed a shocked inhalation, partly because the lingering smell of hot metal was still in the air and I was trying not to breathe in all the cordite and toxic lead-based paint on the metal. But partly because I didn't want these strangers to know how … well, freaked I felt. How had this little girl, who looked no more than six, _know_?

'Let me rephrase that,' Max said impatiently, rubbing her temples tiredly, 'give us a reason to trust _you_.' There was a thoughtful silence. Then -

'Because you have no choice,' Ginny said in a quiet yet uncomfortably carrying voice, 'because you know that you're way up a creek here, nowhere to go, no purpose here. You've been forced here, and you don't know why, or who is supposed to help you. But you think it's us – yet you're avoiding it. You want us to help you, but you're closing your eyes. You have to trust us, because we're the only help around.'

There was a considering pause. Max was staring somewhat appraisingly at Ginny, like she was reluctantly impressed and Ginny had convinced her – convinced against her will, but convinced all the same. And that probably made all the difference.

'Fine,' Max said enthusiastically.

'Glad we straightened that out,' Hermione said in an sweetly vindictive voice that Max looked like she unpleasantly recognized by the glare she gave her.

* * *

**Sorry this chapter was so short – I was stuck for ideas! **

**Also, any questions that go unanswered will be answered in a chapter!**

**GB man: **You write that crossover! And I'll review it! XD

**White Wing Alchemist: **At the Flyboys, but they would've taken out the flock if necessary.

**Teamvampire: **It's OK. Me neither. I'm an unsociable hermit and proud of it. Anyway, to answer your questions (sorry if I'm sarcastic too):

- They DO have fantastic hearing. You'd hear gunshots from 4.5 kilometres too if the area was quiet enough, which it was. I'll go into more detail soon.

- Yes, the shop assistant has issues. And the crocodile heart is supposed to be a cliché. Glad you noticed it. Remember how Ron once flung a croc heart at Malfoy? Now he and Max have something in common. Perhaps they can share stories. :D

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! **


	8. Saving the World & Other Extreme Flying

**Heyy. Just thought I'd cover some details:**

_Voice._

_Max's thoughts_

_Angel_

**Max P.O.V:**

We kept our wings tucked into our vertebrae slits, kicking the chunks of metallic limbs aside impatiently, and they followed suit, carrying their broomsticks, looking slightly grossed out at the realistic bodies and the skinned wolf-fur.

The one with the toffee-coloured curls, Hermione, was recoiling at the coloured extension cords spilling out of a punctured robotic chest, like some diseased intestines – but the flock remained cool and composed and unruffled, like they knew they were supposed to act. But I could see that Angel was trembling involuntarily and Nudge looked as though she was suppressing disgusted comments that probably involved Spanish swearwords. Total had blood on his sooty fur and twisted metal in his canine fangs like silvery toothpicks.

'How did you find us?'

The question surprised the boy, Harry apparently. He considered his answer reluctantly, almost appraisingly, and when he spoke, his words were attempting for simplicity.

'We heard you,' Harry said tentivately as we broke into long strides from the downward slope. Wherever we were heading, it appeared to be in a shallow valley circled by overlapping fields at least twenty yards in length and a thicket of pines, the spiny needles falling from rigid branches. 'Amplifier surveillance settings from the village security store.' He gestured vaguely in a southwest direction with an airy wave, his hand weirdly bruised, that had nothing to do with the robots.

_He's lying._

_How is that possible?_

_Not possible. Real. It's a pretty impressive lie. But it's the truth twisted into a lie. He doesn't think it's not necessary yet. But he's thinking the truth. The louder sounds are echoes from magical enchantment. It's supposed to be a Ministry precaution for impending Death Eaters Apparating. It gives a momentary opportunity for the occupants of the valley to flee, but the normal sounds, like he said, are silent, because there's no purpose in them hearing them. But he doesn't see the point of troubling us with the information._

_What's Apparating? _

_Not to sure. It wasn't even clear in his mind, because he wasn't concerned. He didn't need to consider a meaning, so he didn't. It's just guessing, I suppose. _

'We didn't see a security store,' I said with unnecessary sweetness, and he looked unabashed, though nervously, almost imperceptibly glanced at Ron, who was walking up ahead in long, smooth strides from his gangly legs. Ginny intervened with just as much unnecessary sweetness, though her tone was possibly cooler.

'Owners made it become a library,' she said innocently. I inhaled an uncertain breath, remembering the library with a foyer's waiting line supported on golden poles on a linked chain and a poster for a children's summer reading group on the glass windows. Ginny gave a satisfied smirk and slowed to follow behind with Hermione. I felt like punching her, but didn't.

'There was a commemorative plate in the doorway. It said the building was opened by the village mayor in the fall of 2004.'

Ginny froze but almost immediately regained her composure, straightening with perfect posture and smiling a sweet, icy, permafrost smile, like peaches 'n' cream tipped with iceberg. 'It was a misprint,' she said, somewhat coolly, 'when the villagers noticed the mistake, the library printed flyers apologizing.'

'Yet in all this years, they've never bothered to change it,' I said with light sarcasm and Ginny's body tensed with uncharacteristic anger, her fists curled into her parka as she struggled with her fury. The others were looking surprised and concerned – obviously Ginny usually had a calm temperament.

'Short of money,' she said through clenched teeth. We were a foot apart, glaring in opposite directions. Worried eyes followed our movements: the curled fists resting in her ski parka and the inflexible setting of my jaw that I could see reflected in her hard, impassive brown eyes. It didn't help my conscious that her eyes were the exact colour of my own – only softer, like light chocolate.

'Yes, money must be so hard to come by, with what the overdue fees and the paying for the books and the library card payment.' We were now maybe ten inches apart, the only thing blocking our continuing staring contest was a falling branch with thick brittles and spilling pine needles. Fang made a noise in his throat that sounded halfway between an impatient snort and a 'typical' sigh, and carefully intervened, just as Ginny's impatience flared and she screamed.

'Why do you care about the bloody library for?'

'Because you said to trust you all! How can we freaking trust you if all you do is lie?' I shouted back and Fang immediately back-stepped, considering the possibilities of me throwing an unexpected punch or her keeling over from a heart attack from all the unusual blood pressure running to her brain. Anything was possible. Ginny looked embarrassed, and surprisingly drew short in her immediate comeback, not like she was struggling with the impulse to curse me with her … wand, but like she was considering my point.

'I … I don't know,' she said quietly, and the tension in our staring competition was broken as she stared blushingly at feet. 'I suppose, after all the … the secrecy …' Harry looked as though he had every intention to intervene the awkward apology and continue walking, but with an inconspicuous shaking of her head from Hermione, he withdrew nervously. 'I … wasn't ready. To tell people. I mean, not only is it against the International Statute of Secrecy, but it's – it's. Strange. For me. I'm sorry.'

I was strangely confused by her sudden apology and my conscious felt guilty. 'Me too,' I said, carefully avoiding putting 'sorry' into the whole weird forgiveness mix. 'I shouldn't attack your secrecy. I mean, you must've spent a lot of time hiding it. I should let you speak when you're ready.' Gazzy was looking as if he was considering the unusual depths girls would sink for unusual apologises but Angel looked surprised but pleased, as if we hadn't fallen short of her standards. What with the mind controlling, was possibly a good thing.

'Well,' Iggy interrupted the silence light-heartedly, '_moving onwards_. What are the broomsticks for? No flying carpets?'

Harry chuckled. 'Actually, as I remember, Sabrina the Teenaged Witch had a flying vacuum cleaner - but the mess is unbelievable. Fluff all over the carpets. The occasional beetle. No, the broomsticks are supposed to be for Quidditch players.'

Nudge had shuddered in obvious horror at the mentioning of a beetle scuttling out from a vacuum cleaner bag, but immediately perked up at the thought of whatever Quidditch was, and launched into unwelcomed questions. Hermione was surprisingly good at answering, it was like she was well-practised in answering questions as quickly as possible, though she admitted she wasn't a Quidditch player herself, but she'd read about the sport in her school textbooks for 'light' reading. Harry and Ron filled in the missing gaps and explained about something called a 'Wronski Feint' that they'd Victor Krum do at the Quidditch World Cup two summers previously. Ginny was silent.

_Max?_

Momentarily distracted from the Quidditch, I glanced at Angel in mild confusion: her face was carefree as if she was listening with light interest, but her smile was frozen in place, clearly concentrating hard.

_Yes, sweetie? _

There was a reluctant halt in Angel's breathing as her chest didn't rise and fall like it was supposed to, as if she was considering backing out. Suddenly, her jaw tightened in determination.

_They know. They know who Albus Dumbledore is._

* * *

**Hermione P.O.V:**

Beauty and horror. I wondered if they were faeries. Demons that appeared in human's bodies. They were unusually beautiful, scruffy, but beautiful by their unusual statures, perfect posture despite the implement that they'd spent their childhood in crouched positions, and their amazing hair, in feathery layers, and wide, strangely-coloured eyes that were like orbs without the use of mascara. And their wings. So beautiful. Maybe Dumbledore would know what they were. Maybe he could help.

* * *

_You are reading Fang's blog. Welcome! _

_You are visitor number: 638, 124_

_Trust. Trust is a big thing. We, the flock, are immune to trust for … reasons. Strange reasons that I'd rather not remember, that we don't WANT to remember. Or, as Max puts it: "it was out of sight, out of mind. Or, let's all try to forget when we were at the mercy of the sadistic spawns of Satan in a total hellish abomination that ought to be firebombed" – something like that. _

_Now, there are these … people. They're telling us to trust them, yet they're lying to us. Max has forgive them – for now. She wants them to tell us in their own time. Like we will with them. But I can't trust them. I can't take this lying down. Angel hasn't picked up on any evil intent, so I'm supposing that I'll just go with the flow. I guess we'll find out in time whether they're a wake-up call to ditch this whole "saving the world" mission, or a wake-up call to help the world even more. But, after all we've been through, why should we save the world? Again?_

_Fang._

* * *

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to update. I fully blame the teachers. And I had a sleepover recently, so I'm still recovering from that. We had an argument at midnight on the proper way to say 'durn durn durn' lol. **

**Kitty Bridgeta: **Your reviews are never boring! And yes, the flock do not know of any references to Harry Potter and the Yahoo! People Search didn't come up with anything to them. Obviously, if I were to type in 'Dumbledore' now, it totally would. And that thing on their blog, where they challenged Harry Potter to a wings vs broomsticks fly-off, never existed.

**Teamvampire: **Yes, I was forget to mention the guns. Bad planning on my behalf. LOL. And thank you. I'm sure the baby powder incident is one to remember! I wish I could've seen that. And I'm a WWE fan, so I get most of my stuff from there. XD


	9. Confessions in a Time Warp

**Harry P.O.V: **

'Harry!'

Mrs. Weasley's soup ladle was suspended in mid-air, dripping chopped onions onto the threadbare stove hearthrug. She dipped it into the soup pot impatiently and hurried over, Ron instinctively ducking to put his Wellington boots onto the shoe rack. She looked stony and worried – wielding a butter-knife threateningly.

Mrs. Weasley had never seemed remotely homicidal, but she looked strikingly on the brink of committing mass genocide. (**He he**) Fleur was sitting on the opposite end of the scrubbed wooden table, looking haughty and unruffled and the three-dimensional seating planner rotated clockwise in 90 degrees and focused on table 3 for the fifth time.

'_Where have you_ –' But she withdrew unexpectantly short at the glimpse of the flock gazing at the silver aluminium blade of the butter knife warily, looking surprised at her less-than-welcoming expression. '_Oh_.' She put the butter-knife on the scrubbed wooden table hurriedly and smiled in mild embarrassment at the flock.

Ron, taking umbrage from the butter-knife on the table, intervened swiftly at her apparent curiousity that made the flock cast weird and unnerving glances towards the windows, as if contemplating jumping through the double-glazed glass if the situation got awkward. Or violent. Or both.

'Mum,' Ron said slowly in syllables, as Mrs. Weasley was mentally unstable, and he gestured in calm hand movements to them individually as he said their names. The flock were looking confused. 'This is Max … Nick … Jeff … Tiffany-Crystal … Zephyr and Ariel. They need a place to stay and –'

' – I know, dear,' Mrs. Weasley interrupted tiredly, and the soup ladle span anti-clockwise in the pot and more herbal flavouring from the spices rack began shaking the lid over the onion soup and then slid back onto the shelf. The flock were watching with a light fascination, and Fleur gave a tinkling giggle at their excited expressions, yet it was not a sarcastic laugh, as usual, but more like a pleased laugh.

The flock all were to share spare bedrooms with Max in a single room – all were close together in the bedroom corridor on the lower upstairs landing but separated from the remaining Weasley's who slept on the following, higher landings. Tiffany-Crystal and Ariel were sharing Fred and George's room; the marketing-in-process boxes carried shakily to the rafters of the tiled roof; Max alone in Percy's bedroom in the second room of the lower upstairs corridor and the following boys sleeping in Charlie's bedroom.

'You'll have to use sleeping bags,' Mrs. Weasley handed the boys lumpy sleeping bags stuffed in the drawstring bags, 'they're second-hand and the winter padding is wearing thin, but with this mattress-sheets, the stuffing is just like it's supposed to be. A bit bulky, obviously, but on the whole, I think …'

'It's great,' Max said kindly.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

After the flock had had hot showers, they came downstairs for dinner. They were wearing clothing belonging to the remaining Weasleys: the boys wearing pyjama sweatshirts belonging to Ron and cotton trousers of Fred and George's that were either too baggy in the knee or becoming uncomfortably tight on their waistlines – considering that the only clothes that near fitted were possibly from when Fred and George were fourteen. The girls were wearing Ginny's pyjamas and T-shirts as well as their washed windbreakers that now looked paled to light, pastel colours and dirt-free - even their Scottie terrier, Total, was wearing a knitted vest that had shrunken in the washing machine.

Dinner was … unusual. The flock apparently needed one-to-three thousand calories in the average three meals per day, and with what their four helpings of filled dinner bowls of onion soup and eating the whole fruit lattice pie topped with strawberry ice-cream that was the size of a huge pizza slice, was unbelievable. Mrs. Weasley was literally over the moon at them eating so much.

'Now will you tell us?'

The air was suddenly tense and alert: their shoulders characteristically stiffened and expressions unnaturally cold – like perfect ice sculptures – and unreadable. It was like they were considering the question. Or confused with being angry or managing to uncomfortably sit and explain the unavoidable question.

Max sighed, not impatiently, but like she was preparing herself for a long, awkward talk. Fang gave her a disbelieving glare and it was obvious he was heavily unconvinced that we wouldn't turn them into sideshow circus freaks. Max shrugged almost unnoticeably at him, but he nodded in grim defeat. She began speaking, quickly, lightly, as if she wanted to tell it and no longer remember it.

It was a story of love, hurt and hate. Apparently the flock were 98 per cent human and had 2 per cent of avian DNA injected into their chromosomes when they were developing foetuses, using a pregnancy test called amniocentesis. Mrs. Weasley's expression was suddenly frosty at the mentioning of this pregnancy test as if she was horribly familiar with it, but the remaining of the Weasleys looked understandably confused, until Max gave a brief explanation – and they all shuddered in disbelief. Max lifted her pyjama shirt to her naval so we could see her white speckled wings folded into spiky, feathery triangles in a slit on her vertebrae that left almost invisible feathers sticking out comfortably.

They had lived in a house in Colorado that was like a cantilevered on stilts on a steep canyon – so from their arched windows on their porch, it felt like they were floating. But apparently 'Erasers' (mistakenly assumed as pencil-toppers), that were like werewolves only without the opportunity at morphing at full moon and possibly more deadly with their enhanced fangs and inability to be burnt with silver forks, had burnt it in a fireball more than twenty yards in diameter. Ariel had been kidnapped by these Erasers and run continuos laps in a training yard to test her heart-rate, electrocuted, felt red-hot wires scorching her bare feet, fed radioactive dye to study her blood circulation. She was only six.

Max talked about Itex – unwillingly, bitterly and with unsuppressed disgust – and quickly changed it into a more complex explanation about the company's previous downfall and their impending upturn that she was bluntly convinced was happening – the robots –Flyboys - were supposedly a big giveaway, considering most had been defeated earlier.

They'd lived on a research boat in Antarctic studying alternate possibilities for anti-global warming until they'd been kidnapped to Miami for an impending hurricane that almost dragged them into the eye of the storm; alongside a man that was no more than stacked Plexiglas boxes with liquid fluid in them on a metallic spinal cord. Max left out more complex – or personal – details though, but when Ron showed every sign of asking the embarrassing, inevitable question; Hermione promptly stomped on his foot conspicuously and shot him a meaningful glare.

'Our lives in a nutshell,' Max concluded dully, 'emphasis on the _nut_.' It was an awkward, sticky moment and the tension had not yet broken and nobody was keen on looking at them in outright determination and it was clear nobody was supposed to sympathise. Nobody dared. Except one person.

'My turn!' Tiffany-Crystal interrupted with inappropriate eagerness, looking strangely happy considering the reluctant mood and she launched into an irrelevant speech on their abilities, without drawing an intersecting breath. Everyone laughed, enjoying her immediate enthusiasm and the flock even demonstrated some of their abilities. Zephyr even sang 'The Gummy Bear' song in perfect pitch sounding uncannily like the original version that we once heard from the sound system in a music store.

Hermione smiled. '_Our turn_.'

* * *

**Max P.O.V: **

I was surprised. 'Why?'

Hermione looked at me in sweet confusion, her lips parted in her puzzlement and a mild glowering in her expression, yet it was like a glowering from a Care Bear. But she was not as innocently bewildered as her face suggested. She knew why I was surprised, and the weirdly steely glint in her soft brownish eyes showed it. She was acting confused because she didn't want to scare us by knowing so much about us already. I couldn't help … respecting her for that.

'Well, fair is fair,' Hermione said reasonably.

_"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you have a stronger motive than "fair is fair." Life isn't fair, Dean. Nothing is fair, ever. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I need to help you because "fair is fair." Try, "I need you to help me so I won't rip out your spine and beat you with it." I might respond to that. Maybe."_

'I suppose so,' I said with light-hearted insincerity. Curiousity killed the cat. I rather think it was stupidity who killed the cat and curiousity got framed – curiousity isn't supposed to be a sin. Still. I wanted to know.

It was a story of love, hurt and hate. Harry had been a baby when his parents had been murdered by a wizard called Lord Voldemort. When "Voldemort" was said, only Hermione and Harry did not shudder involuntarily or exclaim in sudden horror unlike the other Weasley's – apparently Voldemort is name that most of the wizarding community refuses to speak. They refer to him as "You-Know-Who" or "He Who Must Not Be Named" instead. I don't know why. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself. But on the alternate, I don't know what he was like. I wasn't sure I wanted to. He sounded like the root of all evil. The devil's spawn. Whichever you preferred.

Harry had survived the Killing Curse placed upon him, with only a scar like a bolt of lightning as a kind of twisted consolation prize for the baby the curse failed to murder. Harry had faced Voldemort four times since he was eleven. It involved Bertie Botts Every Flavoured Beans, a chessboard with moving, human figurines as the chess pieces; flying golden walnuts nearly swallowed in an attempt to catch it, unicorn's blood; serpents travelling in plumbing and a spider that sounded as if Itex had enlarged it unnaturally, like the toddler with the weirdly bulged muscles.

There were wizards that transformed into animals, a violent, freakishly alive tree with wriggling branches like octopus tentacles; werewolves and chocolate slabs the size of boulders. There were Hungarian Horntail dragons guarding wailing eggs, merpeople wielding spears, a graveyard and where Lord Voldemort had risen from the depths of lessor than ghost as an horrifically shrivelled, naked child wrapped in a cloak – Harry had hoped he'd drown in the cauldron that would let him be reborn, but he had not. There were Defence Against the Dark Arts groups; Occlumency that unhappily resembled Angel's ability in reading minds, only with forced pictures rather than thoughts, and the wizarding world finally knew Lord Voldemort was back …

'Occlumency?'

'You can read minds, Ariel,' Hermione said convincingly, smiling an uncomfortably tight smile, 'but I'm assuming you couldn't read our minds, despite your constant efforts when we confronted in that warehouse?' Angel's face contorted in a tension of worried lines, like she was wondering if her mind-reading skills were suddenly collapsing around her. I knew how much she loved her ability.

'I was employing Legilimency against you, and protecting the others, even though they didn't know it – ' Ginny, Harry and Ron gave her immensely surprised looks and she nodded soothingly, 'oh, yes, you were happily ignorant – and so that's why you couldn't get any thoughts from us. Legilimency is powerful in its own way, and has been long developed – much longer developed than your skill. It won over, you see.' Nudge looked on the brink of interrupting with a relentless flow of unwanted questions but Mrs. Weasley smoothly interfered.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

'Have any of you ever seen the _Rocky Horror Picture Show?_'

Hermione had a Special Edition DVD of the _Rocky Horror Picture Show _and put it into the Media Player on Fang's PC, which was apparently, projected onto a blank wall using a spell that Mrs. Weasley enchanted into the system. She was surprised it work. Magic and technology weren't supposed to mix – but somehow, Fang's laptop was an exception to this rule. Mrs. Weasley was worried for Angel and Gazzy, but we heavily convinced her that cross-dressers wouldn't have much effect on their sanity – especially as their sanity had already been permanently screwed, so it wasn't like Rocky Horror would do much more.

During _Rocky Horror_, we all shouted out things to the oncoming actors entered the scenes just like you're supposed to, flicking popcorn, putting on party-hats and ad-libbing the lines. And then Angel, angelic Angel, immediately leapt from her seat and surprisingly screamed, 'FIGHT, ASSHOLE, FIGHT!' at the screen. There was a shocked silence and then simultaneously, everyone started shrieking with laughter.

When the Time Warp came on …

'**AND DO THE PELVIS THRUST!' **

* * *

**A/N: With all the tension, I wanted something to lighten the mood! Rocky Horror is perfect! The Pelvis Thrust is so funny. Hope no-one's offended. And I noticed that it was getting slow, so I just made it a bit quicker. XD**

**Feel free to search 'The Gummy Bear song' and 'Rocky Horror Picture Show Time Warp (find the Live Version onstage) on You-Tube! They're amazing!**

**twilight-h.p.-maxride4ever: **I finally answered your question! About Angel not being able to read their minds. Yay!

**Teamvampire: **I know. Fang is weirdly chatty on his blog. I suppose he has to talk – or write – sometime.


	10. I'm Ready to Fly

**Max P.O.V:**

'We're going to Diagon Alley.'

Nudge, who was eating a blueberry muffin, looked up excitedly. 'Really? Why?' she said at an unnaturally fast pace like she was stringing the syllables together. 'What's Diagon Alley? Can I go shopping? Will the Max Card work?' Her words were barely capable of sounding like an actual sentence.

Mrs. Weasley blinked in unexpected confusion. I bit into a piece of toast innocently as Harry threw me a surprisingly dirty look that supposedly meant, '_Max. Fix this. Now._' I just shrugged and sniffed Nudge's glass of strawberry-yoghurt smoothie. And asked the inevitable question.

'How much sugar is in this?'

Everyone totally ignored that.

'Diagon Alley is the wizarding village,' Hermione said matter-of-factly, as if we were supposed to know. She stirred a bronze spoon in her flat white coffee. Apparently the Weasley's have a werewolf friend and silver cutlery can burn werewolf skin, whether or not the werewolf is morphed into a wolf.

I couldn't help thinking how easy it would've been if we could've just stabbed an Eraser with a silver fork and be done with it. 'It's got stores for all the wizarding studies, like apothecaries and bookstores and robes for all occasions.'

'We'll be taking the Knight Bus,' Mrs. Weasley said quickly, 'the Floo Network isn't supposed to be used: more wizarding homes are disconnecting from their fireplaces … afraid of the impending Death Eaters popping from the grates, you see. And the Order is worried that they'll be keeping tabs on the few people still using Floo Powder. It would be so risky to transport non-magical beings through the Network now …'

The Knight Bus. I remembered them crashing onto the window panes as the bus screeched to a sickening lurch, and the splattering that I had mistaken for the brakes – which was probably not the brakes at all. Eew.

I remembered them staggering unsteadily onto the asphalt, inhaling shuddering breaths like they hadn't breathed properly since stepping onto the bus, Hermione trying to remain steady by holding onto the light stand. Whatever Floo Powder was, it sounded a lot better than this Knight Bus.

'Can't we use Ministry cars?' Ron said, unreasonably irritable.

'What's the Floo Network?' Nudge said curiously.

Mrs. Weasley didn't answer. There seemed to be a lot of that going around.

Suddenly, Mr. Weasley came stumbling downstairs, wearing wizard's robes with the cotton unravelling and his wire-rimmed spectacles were uncomfortably askew, despite that he could've had an optometrist to fix them straight. If wizard's had optometrists. He didn't seem to care anyways. He waved haphazardly and grabbed a piece of toast in one hand, and a pinch of powder that looked like crushed glittering glass in a terracotta flowerpot from the kitchen mantelpiece and promptly threw it into the fireplace.

The fire turned unexpectantly emerald and surrounded the sooty grate in unusually bright green flames, like some freaky holographic. Angel gasped as Mrs. Weasley stood carefully in the fireplace. He was not spluttering from the embers and despite the hot flames, he seemed quite complacent as if he was not burning as he was supposed to. Even the toast remained perfectly buttered. He shouted, 'Ministry of Magic!' and vanished.

There was a shocked pause.

'That was … uh ... unexpected,' Nudge, in spite of the frozen surprise in her expression, managed to form a cohort sentence, while the remaining flock kept staring in bemused horror at the apparently cool emerald ashes burning in the grate – even Iggy, who had been told what had happened, looked unusually shocked. Mrs. Weasley patted Angel kindly on the shoulder.

'Damn straight,' Harry said calmly.

'If it is this Knight Bus,' Total interrupted, 'I'll have you know I suffer from vertigo.'

They stared at him.

We forgot to mention the talking dog.

* * *

**Harry P.O.V:**

'Have a nice day!' Stan Shunpike said happily, as we clambered down, gripping with unnecessary force on the handrail and wobbled to regain our composure, or at least stand up straight, following onwards without promptly stacking it.

Max was muttering sinister threats that concerned Stan Shunpike's face and medieval thumbscrews, and left my imagination to roam free on what she could possibly do single-handedly without a wand and only screws as her weapon. Possibly a lot. Even if with a Stunning Spell, I wouldn't want to face Max in a dark alley. Or any alley, that is.

Now she was staring at the Leaky Cauldron bar with a mixture of curiousity and apprehension. I supposed I could why: the windowpanes were grimy and the single-glazed were opaque and musty, the plant in the cauldron at the doorstep was drooping and it was unnaturally, eerily quiet. It didn't look very welcoming.

It was completely empty. Lit only by filthy candle stubs in candelabras, Tom the barman, was wiping glasses with a tea towel, looking depressing wizened. The door creaked on its weirdly squeaky hinges as it swung forwards and a hollow clinging of a rusted bell chimed.

Before Tom could speak, Mrs. Weasley said intervening swiftly, 'just passing through today, Thomas, sure you understand. Hogwart's business, you know.' Tom nodded gloomily and poured a cocktail glass of cherry syrup from a dusty bottle, downing it in a single swallow. It wasn't even depressing in a spiritual angst sort of way, more like in a what's-the-point-of-living way.

As Ariel passed, she momentarily paused, distracted, and tipped the bottle of the remaining cherry syrup down the sink. 'You don't need that,' she said with icy but somewhat kind forcefulness, as the reddish liquid chugged from the spout and down the drain. 'If you need a drink, try mineral water. Things are going to change around here, Tom. Maybe not now, but soon. We're making sure of it.'

As she followed onwards through the deserted bar to the chilly courtroom outside, she froze unexpectantly and turned to glare at him with her eyes that were like blue Popsicles. 'And don't _ever_ think that again.'

Mrs. Weasley tapped a brick with her wand, which wriggled and shifted, and the following bricks rotated and shuffled aside as a brick archway that led in the winding, cobbled village. Diagon Alley's shops all had windowpanes with colourless, enlarged Ministry leaflets as now full-scale posters as well as black-and-white pictures of escaped Death Eaters from their Azkaban tabs, sneering and looking coolly bored from their cut-offs. Everyone was huddled in inseparable groups and no one lingered to talk to bystanders.

We visited Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The goblins apparently did refused to give so much as passing, even disapproving nod to the flock and acted as if they were invisible – but the flock didn't look as if they minded, just remaining sweet (well, as sweet as they could be) and unusually polite considering the presence of olden-day Yodas.

And no, that's _not _my phrasing. Hermione used Legilimency on Max and saw the weirdly vivid image of a stunted gremlin-like thing brandishing a glow-in-the-dark stick that she said was a light sabre.

The Gringott's ride was … interesting. The flock acted like it was more like a rollercoaster ride than something that was likely to send you accidentally flying from underestimating a little go-kart's speed and not holding onto the safety bar. They put their hands in the air, followed by Ron, swaying at the sudden corners and sliding in their seats, and not even Mrs. Weasley looked angry.

On the second ride, they kept their hands to themselves (probably from the consecutive dirty looks the goblin assistant was sending them at frequent intervals) as we explained about wizarding money. They had learnt all the coin exchanges surprisingly quickly, as Max said how their brain cells were 'stimulated' as they were developing to make them freakishly quick-witted. Yet she supposedly couldn't program her DVD player after all the effort.

Mrs. Weasley eventually agreed, after much persuading, for us to split into two separate groups: her, followed by Ginny, Jeff, Zephyr and Angel to go to Flourish and Blott's bookstore and for the remaining flock and Ron, Hermione and I to go to Madame Malkin's robes for all occasions for school robes that were becoming to short in the ankle for Ron and Hermione who needed new dress robes for the welcoming ceremony.

In the store, Draco Malfoy was revolving slowly in front of a mirror, glancing at his pale reflection with unnecessary malice while Madame Malkin dithered nervously at his side, tucking and pinning at his emerald-green robes while Narcissa Malfoy's stood back with an intimidating expression.

Although I was not afraid of Malfoy, nor his mother, I could sort of see why Madame Malkin looked so scared. As he caught sight of us, his haughty expression marred into an unpleasant leer and his light grey eyes narrowed spitefully.

'If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother,' Malfoy said maliciously, 'a Mudblood just walked in.'

'I don't think there's any need for language like that!' Madame Malkin said, scurrying out from behind a laden clothing rack carrying a strip of plastic measuring tape and holding her wand aloft defensively. 'And I don't want wands drawn in my shop, either!' she added hastily, as a quick glance towards the doorway showed that Ron and I had drawn our wands.

Max's fists were curled in her windbreaker pockets and Fang looked quite tranquil although there was a tension momentarily crossing his calm expression and I knew he was suppressing anger. He was obviously good at controlling his temper, though.

They knew what a Mudblood was. We'd explained the wizarding descents to them and how pureblood wizards with apparent better-than-you complexes (acting on the example of the Slytherins) compared Muggle-borns, like Hermione, as dirty bloods. Max had immediately gotten mad and the other flock members were equally disgusted. They'd compared the use of the word Mudblood to everyone who'd ever called them a mutant freak. Max said that if somebody mentioned the word, 'Mudblood' in front of her, she'd hit them. And that's exactly what she did to Draco Malfoy.

**SMACK!**

I couldn't argue that he hadn't had it coming to him.

* * *

**A/N: Max punched Malfoy! Yay! Oh, and if anyone's wondering why I compared a goblin to Yoda (see Google Images), it's because Max compares, like how she compared the Uber-Director's boxes to a hamster cage. **

**maxride333 (): **LOL, thank you.

**Teamvampire: **We should totally keep up this, you-review-me, I reply-thing. We could set a record. Yes, it was a movie. I thought that after a fight to the death, a movie is a great way to relax. And yeah, the explanations were very boring to write, and very long, but it was a must. I tried to make it as interesting as possible. And yes, I do get people telling me to update a lot, but I don't mind. It encourages me!

**Wierdpeopleruletheworld: **Ha ha, me too! They're so addictive.


	11. Harry Potter & the Chocolate Frog

**Max P.O.V:**

'Really, Max, _WHY_?'

'Um,' I said, real intelligently, unable to think.

Iggy was randomly throwing peppers into a Spanish omelette mix – though we've all tried convincing him that peppers aren't supposed to go in Spanish omelette. It's Spanish onions. _Hence, the name_. But Iggy ignores us. And it still tastes good, so go figure. He rolled his eyes at me.

Harry and Ginny were trying to teach the flock Exploding Snap in the yard, with coloured cards that surprisingly exploded whenever a player lost a snap. Smoke was rising on the double-glazed windowpanes, giving it a weirdly smudged effect, like it was stained glass.

The Exploding Snap was unusually mixed with poker, with Bertie Botts Every Flavoured Beans as chips, and along with the unexpected bangs, the game was punctured with complaints at Angel's mind reading. Hermione was reading a textbook on potioneering.

'_You gave him a black eye!'_

Iggy snickered. I blinked, momentarily distracted by the exploding playing cards. Ron elbowed me in the ribs, which he'd been doing in frequent intervals whenever my response was not necessarily verbal (more like absent-minded grunts); and this unusually sharper jab made me straighten unwilling, alerted by the much harder pain in my side. I glared at him.

Ron rolled his eyes at me too, and gave a non-committal jerking towards Mrs. Weasley who was staring at me, brandishing a salad-spinner. The kitchen was like her weapon room. First butter-knives, then salad spinners. I debated the chances of it either being tongs or a blender next.

'_And you got a restraining order!'_

'I did?' I said, vaguely impressed.

Hermione looked up impatiently from the chapter on Golpalott's Third Law, which was about antidotes for blended potions using other antidote mixes. 'You're not allowed to stand, sit or walk within hitting, slapping, punching, talking or kicking distance within Ferret – I mean, Malfoy.'

Apparently the restraining order form was sent today, only it was supposedly addressed to a Maxine Ride, a foreign exchange witch from Colorado on an inter-schools magical course to Hogwarts, along with other students. Which is just a fancy term for 'the remaining flock'. Maybe they didn't want that in print. _I_ wouldn't want that in print, either. Actually, Mr. Weasley had specially 'Confunded' the Head of the Restraining Offices in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

'Oh,' I said, feeling unexpected disappointment. 'That's very ... complete. Ah, well, I could always spit in his eye.'

Ron laughed and was immediately quelled under the freakishly scary look Mrs. Weasley gave him – which strangely resembled _Psycho. _Really, the similarity was striking. The only thing that was missing was the 'eek eek eek' music. Funny how such a kind person can look so frightening. She turned to me with what was apparently a forced smile.

'You'll do no such thing,' Mrs. Weasley said tightly, 'the Malfoy's are a … conceited wizarding family, very haughty and unruffled, but abnormally spiteful - they're purebloods, see, with a … bitterness, to Muggle-born wizards and Muggles. Though Mr. Malfoy is in Azkaban – that's our wizarding prison – they think the name of Malfoy still demands respect.'

Seeing the confused expression on my face, she hurried onwards and cut the considerate, annoyingly kindly, explanations off, and hastily continued with a 'long story short'.

'I mean, Max, is that the Malfoy's are a Death Eater family – meaning that the were within You-Know-Who's inner circle. Friends of Harry's are not considered friends of theirs. They will try to rip you from the wizarding world, where they believe you scarcely belong, and anything purposely done to Draco Malfoy will not be so good for you. The restraining order is only the first step. He'll, well, _get you _for blacking his eye. Just – promise me. _Promise me_. You. Will. Not. Touch. Him.'

I sighed. 'Promise.'

Her face split into an unwilling smile and she looked distinctly happier. Ron and I went outside to play Exploding Snap, where they were apparently tyring to build the Eighth Wonder of the World in playing cards (mini-version) – cards that reminded me of an unusual cross between regular Old Maid cards and a pressed paper chain explosion.

'Is Max usually that violent around people who annoy her?'

Iggy chuckled. 'Worse, actually. Max usually has two speeds – hostile and smart aleck. Malfoy was the unlucky bastard who got the third, unconditional pick. If Max ever gets ahold of him, he'll never come out _alive_.'

* * *

**Two days later … **

**Harry P.O.V:**

'Chocolate Frogs?'

Tiffany-Crystal pulled out a Chocolate Frog. It resembled the Muggle Easter chocolate frog only the wizarding chocolates actually hopped realistically like frogs, occasionally out the windows, only to be splattered by the oncoming wheels, sending gooey chocolate flying. She promptly screamed as the frog leapt hopefully from its emerald wrappings and leapt onto the windowsill in a single bound.

On the card was Dumbledore, considering the scene with light contempt, which was unusually unlike him; but then the card shifted to the sunlight streaming as best as it could from the foggy windowpanes, and he was apparently glancing at his surroundings with interest. He smiled at Nudge, who was looking immensely surprised and a little confused.

'If you develop the camera film in potion, the pictures move,' Ron explained dully without waiting for the impending, obvious question, digging through a box of chocolate chocolate-chip cauldron cakes and randomly throwing them in all directions without telling the people he was throwing squishy cauldrons at them. Everyone ducked, but Nick got a faceful, which he didn't look particularily pleased about. But he refrained from commenting, like usual.

'Sometimes they disappear. You can't expect them to hang around all day,' he added, as Tiffany-Crystal looked predictably disappointed as Dumbledore walked sideways out his frame and vanished.

Our compartment was packed. The prefect's carriage was apparently invisibly extended to fit the prefects from the houses as well as spreading room for their pet cages and the baggage racks. All the prefects had chosen to remain in separate carriages, each occasionally sliding the glass doors to walk a length of the train corridor or slip into other compartments to yell at people, then joined their friends again.

We fitted comfortably, with their Scottie terrier Total curled under a compartment seat, oddly subdued from his insistent talking from the previous night, licking a paw with weird grace for an animal that walked on four legs. We knew that Total didn't consider himself a regular canine – he preferred the term, 'canine-American'.

Suddenly, the train shuddered to a surprising halt, throwing us forwards in unconditional shock and pumpkin pastry crumbs falling from laps as the remaining food lurched forwards and hit the lino floor. The door's glass seemed to vibrate with the process of being unexpectedly wobbled.

The train halting this violently was new – maybe there was a trainee driver. The train had creaked slowly from King's Cross Station as if the beginner had forgotten to steer properly or couldn't actually steer at all. And sure enough, as we left down the corridor shakily – all feeling horribly like the Hogwart's Express was now channelling the sickening spirit of the Knight Bus, Stan Shunpike was waving from the driver's carriage. Max threw him a remarkably dirty look.

But the strangest thing was the Albus Dumbledore chocolate frog card. Tiffany-Crystal showed me as we were collecting our bags. In the frame were the portrait of Dumbledore was supposed to be were three words.

SEE YOU SOON.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry if this chap is too fast! In case you're wondering, after they went to Diagon Alley, they went and got some clothing, etc for the flock. **

**Teamvampire: **Probably all three. XD And thanks. I know that anti-werewolf stuff doesn't apply to Twilight, but it seems to apply to Harry Potter, because all the mythical creatures are like the stereotypes, so probably. And yes. Max should get anger-management classes. Hmm … there's an idea.

**santaclausrules18: **LOL! Such a funny song. I love it!

**bluewinged kitty: **Thanks for reviewing all the chapters! But this takes place after the fifth book and after the Final Warning – I haven't read the fifth MR yet. And I totally have a good story to tell, lol! I'm never going to let my teachers forget it. And Fang never says much … hmm, that just gave me another idea.

**Sarra Elizabeth: **Hope you like the response from the Malfoy's! He he he.

**maxride333: **Feel VERY special. Here it is again. :D

**Kitty Bridgeta: **Ha, thanks! The message totally got across. As you can see.


	12. Curiouser and curiouser

**Harry P.O.V:**

'SEE YOU SOON!?'

'Um, yeah,' I said mildly, as Max looked like she was considering jumping off the Astronomy Tower. She whirled, surprisingly quickly, anger marring her unusually beautiful face. I didn't know why she was suddenly so pissed off. Her lips twisted in a menacing snarl and I awaited her fury to fall with a resounding explosion.

"_Malfoy was the unlucky bastard who got the third, unconditional pick. If Max ever gets ahold of him, he'll never come out alive." _

But then her anger was suddenly shock. The flock all carried strikingly similar expressions. I rounded.

The Thestrals were oddly sinister and eerie in the dim light of the dusty oil lamps, harnessed to the coaches, milky-pale eyes embedded in a bony, dragonish skull and fur sunken into their reptilian skeletons; leathery, gummy-looking wings floating like small aeroplanes.

'You can see them?' I said curiously, and the Thestrals were reflected in her unexpectedly silvery orbs, from the oil-lamps. It was totally creepy, all silver and glowing and then she suddenly blinked, jerking her eyes away from the dusty light, and they were coloured their usual brown. She paused, momentarily glaring at the hot-pink laces in her new Converse high-tops, and then turned.

'What - what is _that_?'

'Thestrals,' Ariel said dully, 'you can see them if you've seen … death.' Max inhaled, apparently disgusted, followed by a sudden grimace and then she was strangely composed – but her hands were trembling slightly.

My mind teemed with memories. A pebbly mercreature, with pulsing bluish pupils and strangely greyish, slimy limbs with bubbly pods as its toes, sucking in a struggled breath. An awkwardly grown mouse, fur embedded in its skeleton, whiskers bedraggled and its face literally shrunken in its skull – it had an inability to digest either grain or meat, so it was starving to death.

It looked like the rodent version of Thestral, only it had retractable cat claws under its scrawny paws. A wolf, splayed at an unnatural angle, neck cricked on a concerete ledge – and then the wolf, its limbs twisted and strips of blank eyeball visible under its sockets. Max cradling its furry corpse. All of them dead or dying.

I winced.

'Come,' Hermione said, breaking the tension and a surprisingly strong grip took my wrist. I was dragged along, and the flock followed, or trailed, unenthusiastically in her wake. I knew she'd used Legilimency to see the memories too and she was frightened: scared for the flock and scared of our interference with the flock. Frightened that it would make things worse. And Ariel knew what she was thinking.

Not good.

Understatment.

The ride was awkward, but Tiffany-Crystal apparently sensed the tension in the air, and seemingly snapped it. She asked Ginny if the rules at Hogwarts were rules to be followed, not just supposed guidelines. Ginny said they were actually rules, despite what Johnny Depp believed. Tiffany was really disappointed, until Ron said that no-one actually followed the rules that were meant to be followed, she was welcome to fling a Fanged Frisbee at Snape's face.

Hermione hit Ron and told him not to encourage the flock when they'd end up picking gut worms from the bowels of a Blast-Ended Skrewt with their bare-hands. We lapsed into the sticky silence.

All I could see was the pebbly mercreature that was apparently supposed to be a hideously mutated child, suffocating, according to its weirdly greyish, slimy and scaly, unnaturally like a fish flopping on a pier. Have you ever seen a fish on a boardwalk, thrashing, wishing it was in water?

If you have, you'll know what its like. If you haven't - trust me.

You _don't_ want to.

'Does anyone want to sing "Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall?"?' Nick suggested idly.

We all screamed 'NO!' at the same time.

* * *

**A/N: The following are Angel reading the minds of the flock. That's why it's written in third person and is in italics. And Fang's is like, half-thoughts, half blog entry:**

Iggy's thoughts:

_This sucks. This sucks. This sucks. But on the contrary, I can see the golden-white glass in the windowpanes and the foggy, pearly-white of the lamplight. Finally being able to see light – even if it IS like the white-light of death. This sucks. This sucks. This sucks. This sucks. Oh, and the leather seats are coffee-coloured … like Nudge's skin … mochachino somehow. I could kill for a Starbucks mochachino coffee. In a Styrofoam cup. If it's white, I can probably see what I'm drinking, instead of having to sniff it in case it's poisoned. _* sigh * _Can never be too sure. Hope they've got decaf at this Hogwarts. Maybe they don't give children caffeine. 1,000 kids running around in a massive castle on a caffeine high can't be fun. This sucks. I wonder if I can make a bomb out of anything –_

* * *

**Nudge's thoughts: **

_Max's shoes are so awesome. Her Converse high-tops with the hot-pink laces are like the gorgeous equivalent to those hideous camouflage-print combat boots Max was rooting for. Ginny said that camouflage combat boots were like the shoes you wore to slice whale blubber from a fresh carcass of slippery meat and then promptly burned. Max said that the boots were like the shoes you wore to kick metal robotic arse and kept because the robots soon turned into floating, burning shrapnel. _* sigh * _If only Max knew the difference between an eggshell-white and antique-white, rather than the difference between Star Wars and the Lord of the Rings. Seriously. Life would've been so much easier if –_

* * *

**Gazzy's thoughts:**

_Ooh, a stink bomb. Apparently wizards have "Dung-Bombs" that are supposed to stink out corridors in lesson intervals … I could maximise it with my scent. As an April Fool's joke … Max wouldn't approve it, though it is a pranking occasion and April Fool's sort of gives you permission to throw killer stink bombs down corridors. Maybe a massive one, in that dining hall Hermione mentioned, after dessert, obviously … didn't Ron say they had a polter … polter … poltergeist, that isn't exactly a ghost, but apparently likes to pull jokes and can't see a plate of food without flinging it? Wow. I'm impressed. Maybe he could help me. But Max would tear me apart. _* sigh *_ Ooh, Iggy, this poltergeist – Peeves – and me … equals a killer Dung Bomb. We'd probably be hired by their wizarding joke-shop. Oh, this WILL be fun –_

* * *

**Fang's thoughts: **

_Blog. Giant castle. Blog. Max, Max, Max. Blog. I hate it here. I really hate it here. I wish those wizards would quit staring at me. Blog. Max, Max, Max. Hard to decide what I want to think about first –_

_**You are reading Fang's blog. Welcome!**_

_**You are visitor number: 726, 838.**_

"_Is this like some voodoo thingy?" Which is apparently the eternal question, the inevitable question, the dumbass question, whichever term you prefer. _

_"No, dude". Which is apparently the eternal answer, the inevitable answer, the 'no-duh' answer, whichever term you prefer. I wonder if I'll actually ask this question and get the following answer._

_Probably not. I don't think I _want _to. __Sometimes, the truth is better not knowing._

_- Fang._

* * *

**Angel's thoughts: **

_Wow. The flock thinks weird stuff. That always amazes me. Sometimes, I don't _want_ to hear the flock's thoughts. But it's hard not to. Nudge is constantly thinking about shopping. Not that I'm complaining. Nudge is like my best friend. And thanks to her, I can use E-Bay blindfolded. Show me another kid who can do that. Gazzy's mind is just … diabolical. I wonder if I can use mind-control on a poltergeist. Something that's not exactly ghost and isn't supposed to have a mind, yet it can apparently think for itself. Or maybe it's mind is preserved and will be harder to read – like a permanent Legilimency._

_Speaking of which, Hermione's using group Legilimency again. I wonder how she does that. I should ask. And Iggy is just … depressed. He hates being around new surroundings, scenery that isn't even on a map. Maybe they can magically correct his vision … though I wouldn't want it to permanently screw up. And then there's Fang. Still obsessed with his blog. And Max. He loves Max. He should just admit it. Maybe Nudge and I could - or not. Max would be mad if she knew. I think I'll just stick to the waiting program. For now. _*sigh *_ Oh, look, there's the castle –_

* * *

**1 hour later …**

**Max P.O.V:**

'Hybrids, you say?'

Albus Dumbledore looked at us mildly through his gold-rimmed, crescent-moon spectacles. He had on a weirdly twisted smile, and I knew he was carefully curious behind his thick silvery-greyish beard that marred his face following from his nose. And he was curious in a non-whitecoat way. Wow.

'I know it's unimaginable, sir, but apparently possible.'

'More than just _apparently_, actually,' Nudge said sweetly, but the sweetness was tinged with shards of ice. She let her wings out and in the sliver of dark golden-purple sunset reflecting off the tinged blue stained-glass of Dumbledore's window, they were not tawny, but looked like burgundy with reddish-brown on the tips.

Dumbledore looked stunned as he gazed at her wings as the reddish-brown dulled into a russet colour of falling leaves as the sunset gleamed indigo. He stood, and he was surprisingly tall: his cloak fell in silvery spangled stars and a long train of royal blue velvet. He faced the sunset.

'Itex,' Dumbledore said heavily. 'Itex … Voldemort … vampire involvement.' Angel looked unsettled, and she shook her blonde curls, glinting pale gold in the now dark violet sky streaked with orange tints – apparently she was disgruntled she could not hear his thoughts. Harry looked alarmed.

'Surely not, sir,' Harry said in a tense, worried voice. '_Vampires_?'

Dumbledore whirled, amazingly quickly, and drew out a stone basin, pale bronze with golden runes carved into the marble – it was emitting a strange silvery glow, like lit glass from inside it. He turned to us, curiousity now plainly etched on his heavily lined face, and his bright blue eyes gleamed with undisguised enthusiasm. I couldn't help recoiling suddenly.

'Would you be willing to place your memories in this Pensieve?'

* * *

** A/N: TA-DA! Finally, an update! LOL. Hope you enjoy hearing the flock's thoughts ... oh, and Fang actually said something! "99 Bottles of Beer, on the wall, 99 bottles of beer ... you take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall ..." Ha. **

**Team vampire: **Thanks! I think Stan Shunpike driving the Express is DEFINIETLY an accident-waiting-to-happen. Or has already happened ... (cue durn durn durn music) ;D

**MissStud: **Thankyou. Hugs for you! I get confused if Max is blonde or a brunette, because occassionally in fan-fics she's blonde, and in some of the books she's brown or blonde-haired. And I haven't read the fifth book yet ... so she's going to be blondy-brown in this fic.

**Booklover ():** Ha ha, that's OK. Interesting persuasion!

**Randomperson ():** Yes, you're consideration and undemanding nature absolutely astounds me. Must have more of that going around. LOL. Just kidding. XD Hope this update works for you!

**Sarra Elizabeth: **:D Thanks! It was kind of weird, because I just saw a Simpson's thing where Bart gets a restraining order ... trippy ...

**Vamps-with-wings:** LOL, I know ... it wasn't meant to be creepy, but I guess it kind of came out that way. Anyways, yes, the power of the Nudge channel is great, young Padawan. Kind of like the Force. :D But thanks so much! Hugs for you, too! Yes, I give people random online hugs.

**Kitty Bridgeta: **Telepathic communications rock! My friends and I use mental telepathy all the time. I think it kind of looks like we've got a headache, though. And yeah, if a restraining order would stop Max, then I'm chopped liver.

**Marlicat: **Lol. MONKEY-FUDGE. That is so funny.

**GB Man:** Thanks! You too!

**PLEASE REVIEW! **


	13. Pie Makes Everything Better!

**So after being so charmingly threatened with a (and I quote) 'giant rusty spoon of doom' (thanks Madeline Cullen XD), I decided I should update …**

**And HAPPY EASTER!**

**Max P.O.V:**

'_Is that my … memory?' Nudge said curiously, her voice strangely soft. _

_In her hand was a glass crystal phial cut in diamonds – like Alice in Wonderland, but no DRINK ME card in the gem stopper. In the phial was silvery-white, smoky gossamer, swirling constantly, yet the glass crystal was perfectly still in her clasp. Dumbledore had placed his wand to her temple and she'd involuntarily recoiled, shivering slightly in the surprisingly icy breeze whistling through the golden arched window. _

'_It's fine, Nudge,' Dumbledore said, irritatingly calm. Harry swung me an accusing glance at our actual names, but he kept unusually quiet, though he kept throwing me poisonous glares in regular intervals, yet he didn't seem angry, just slightly annoyed, but in a passing way. _

_I knew Nudge was thinking of silver bullets and was waiting for ammunition to shoot from its tip – just the overreacting, paranoid package deal: couldn't get one reaction without the other. I was braced to shatter his ribs if necessary but no bullet burst from the ashy wood: just the silvery gossamer strand that coiled like a snake into the glass crystal phial. Nudge's tensed body relaxed slowly, shoulders arched from being cautious, until his wand was resting by his side. _

'_See?' Dumbledore said placidly as he wrote her name on bronze parchment in his oddly spiky handwriting. 'No harm done.' A strange snickering rose from Iggy's throat, like he was badly suppressing a sarcastic snort, but he managed to pass it off as a cough as Dumbledore's bright blue eyes gazed scarily into his pale sightless ones. _

'_It was like a car crash,' Fang amended thoughtfully, 'you can't turn away.'_

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The world was weirdly foggy. I was in the woodlands, the leaves from springy birch trees turning the sunlight into dappled light, and the pines rained spiky needles. I kept walking, pulling out emerald ivy leaves tangled in my hair. The woodlands were suddenly ferns, unusually wet with clear crystal droplets glistening on the leaves, and spidery webs of moss shining on boulders.

I stepped in a meadow that was perfect, indescribably perfect: wildflowers embedded in the sparkling green grass, violet and soft white. The sun was a haze of buttery sunlight reflecting light like tiny diamonds. There was a shadowy figure veiled by ferns and there was a surprisingly golden gleam amidst the greens. Then the golden dulled and it was only the sunlight that was the closest yellow. I reached the ferns and –

'MAX! WAKE UP!'

My eyes involuntarily snapped open from the strangely vivid dream, the weird, unnatural golden gleaming replaced by the pale lavender of the silk netting and the pale light from the arched windows in the castle's guest room. Yes, Hogwarts apparently has a guest room for the 'foreign exchange students' that we're supposed to be.

There was a momentarily surprised shriek that was quickly muffled – and Nudge and Angel were tangled in the violet satin quilts on the silvery-white speckled marble floorboards, looking grumpy.

'You kicked us off,' Nudge whined, looking uncharacteristically angry, flicking at the violet satin quilts irritably and only finding more pale lavender silk sheets surrounding the silver trim netting underneath: she and Angel were twisted in all. 'Where you having a dream, Max?' Nudge said, her angry suddenly fading to be replaced with curiosity.

_There was no choice, really. If you were me, you'd have done the same thing. I closed my eyes, held out my arms … and let myself fall over the edge of the cliff._

'Um … yes. Why?' The unearthly baying of bloodhounds sniffing my scent lingered in my ears and I resisted the temptation to think of a bullet piercing my torn nightgown and ripping through my flesh. I accidentally shuddered and Angel frowned in concern.

_The Erasers screamed angrily, the dogs barked hysterically, and then all I could hear was the sound of wind rushing past. It was so dang peaceful, for a second. I smiled. Then, taking a deep breath, I unfurled my wings as hard and as fast as I could._

'You were … muttering,' Hermione said apologetically - she was perched on the driftwood chest, entwining a length of lavender silk in her hands. I felt unconditionally embarrassed, but my cheek according to the silvery twisted mirror's reflection, was not reddened and didn't feel hot. 'Something about a … a … meadow.'

_Oh, my God. I was flying – just like I'd always dreamed. I soared up past the cliff edge, past the startled hounds and furious Erasers. One of them, hairy-faced, fangs dripping, raised a gun._

I sighed impatiently, as Ginny, who was fiddling with the silver trim netting that was dripping in glossy ringlets around Angel's body, looked up with an unnerved expression, her unnaturally shiny dark red hair falling over an eye – I didn't know if this was a nervous habit, but the effect seemed like she was … hiding. From me.

I dressed quickly – slipping on the Converse high-tops with the hot-pink laces, not for beauty, but for defence – the heel of the boot was probably as effective as stiletto heels when it came to impaling feet accidentally-on-purpose. I had preferred the camouflage combat boots – better for stomping, if necessary – but Ginny and Nudge, who were my equivalent to Nazis, had thrown the print combat boots in the 'NOT FOR SALE' box.

As we were dispersing from the room, Ginny unexpectedly grabbed my wrist. Instinctively, I swung a flying punch but she skipped surprisingly quickly, avoiding the punch, and snatching my other wrist in her hands in a weirdly strong grip, until we were probably a foot apart.

'It was weird,' Ginny said, scarily softly, 'that you should have such a vivid dream on the night you arrived.'

_A red dot appeared on my torn nightgown. Not today, you jerk, I thought, veering sharply west so the sun would be in his hate-crazed eyes. I'm not going to die today._

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**Friday, week one at Hogwarts … **

'Where the hell is North?'

'I don't know!' Nudge hissed.

Finding north was an instinct for us: like an embedded internal compass but all this magic was screwing with the magnetism and it was pissing us off. This castle was so complex. It was like a maze, with forks and spiralling staircases and nobody knew where freaking north was.

It didn't help that an unnaturally large crowd constantly followed us, gazing, their gazes punctured with giggles and whispers. We could barely walk through corridors without being herded like sheep. But whenever I glared, they glanced at me with unconvincingly innocent angel smiles.

And they 'just happened' to be placed near a ray of sunlight that fell like the Light of God, making their faces shine golden. Sunlight streamed constantly from the summery skies through the castle windows and I was waiting for winter with cold impatience.

Only the Slytherins looked back with flat icy glares, sneering with surprisingly malice and rolling their eyes haughtily, looking coolly indifferent, and almost bored.

Though I was trying to be the inconspicuous, it suddenly made me angry at the constant, totally irrelevant glares I was getting whenever I moved three inches to the left. For example. One morning, I had bitten into a cinnamon-raisin bagel, and Harry had told me I looked like a lion ripping apart an antelope. Yeah. It was _that _bad.

But now, there was nobody. When we needed them most.

'No, I think that's east,' Gazzy said impatiently, 'the sun rises in the east … and the sunlight is shining into the lake.' The sun was streaming rays of sunlight into the lake like a pool of golden light and there was a turquoise spotted squid lazily wiggling in the shadows from the trees into the watery depths. 'So north is backwards through that corridor.'

'The sun is permanently screwed,' Iggy insisted, 'the sunlight on the castle is reflected from all the freaking mirrors and the glass windows. Is there a sundial?'

Fang shrugged impatiently but naturally kept quiet. Nudge pulled a weirdly pained grimace, ruffling her toffee-coloured curls absent-mindedly as she sighed. 'Not that I know of,' she said with mixed emotions - mostly annoyance. 'So we don't know where north definitely is?'

'Need a compass,' Angel suggested calmly. 'Can't find the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom otherwise.'

'The DADA classroom?' A ghost floated through a stone wall, with pearly, transparent curls floating to a laced ruff. The ruff was on a severed neck, half an inch of hideously mutilated flesh and remaining sinew being the only attachment from the ghost being actually decapitated.

'You go up the staircase following the corridor,' Nearly Headless Nick said, gesturing vaguely to the corridor on my left, 'that's the corridor of the One-Eyed Witch, or the second floor north corridor. Then from that staircase, it's the second door on the right.'

'Thanks,' I said, smiling grimly, waiting for the inevitable question, which surprisingly, unusually, never came so I reacted instinctively by answering.

'Professor Dumbledore let us listen to some lessons … uh … for British foreign exchange program … and we've got a timetable of the classrooms we're allowed to visit with the teacher's permission, and a list of directions for the classes, but no compass.'

'An inconvenience, I am sure,' Nick said, not unkindly yet with a non-committal air, smiling broadly, 'perhaps Professor McGonagall – that's the Transfiguration teacher – would transfigure you a compass.'

'Um, thanks,' I said, swiftly intervening, and the flock and I ran down the corridor with our naturally light but typically quick footfalls echoing dimly through the corridors and sprinted up the staircase, somehow not falling in our haste, but perhaps walking like we were floating was like a convenience in castles.

The door to the DADA classroom flung open as soon as I'd lightly brushed the icy steel doorknob and I was bitterly slipped on the stone tiles and collided with a disgruntled Fang.

In the doorway was a teacher – Professor Snape - that looked weirdly like a twisted bat crossed with a parrot: waxy, greenish tinge to his pale, chalky complexion that was vampiric, his nose unnaturally beaky. I was waiting for the glistening fangs of his teeth when he sneered, his hooked nose wrinkling like we smelt. How offensive.

'And _what_,' Snape hissed, 'is this?'

'I – we – sorry – um, sir,' I said defensively, 'we got lost. We're supposed to be in this classroom to listen to the lesson on … um … non-verbal spells. Sorry we're late – we haven't gotten used to the castle yet.'

'No excuse,' Snape snarled, and I felt inappropriately – though not unusually – angry at his reaction, suddenly tired, abruptly pissed off at the constant sneers and glares and dirty looks. I was ready to snarl too, with as much icy venom as I could manage, when he literally dragged us through the door, to his awaiting, pathetically eager audience. Jerk.

'You show up,' Snape was breathing erratically, unconditionally annoyed, 'twenty minutes late, with an apology that consists of barely cohort stammering and interrupting my classes and expect for … a lollypop?'

'If it were from you, it'd be a _poisonous _lollypop,' I snarled, my hands digging into fists capable of splintering his ribs with a throwing punch – even the mildest slap would probably give him a bruise. 'And we'd be dead on the floor. I suppose you have better things to do than _clean up bodies_, so we're on the receiving end on the other crap you can provide!'

There was a sudden inhalation in compromise. Harry was frantically shaking his head and looking exasperated, followed by Ron's less-than-subtle throat-slitting warnings behind Snape's curved, bat-like backside.

'What – did – you –say?' Snape said jerkily, and I had the distinct impression that he hadn't expected an irritable reply and was on the brink of exploding in fury. 'Fifty points from – oh. Detention, Miss Ride!' Snape sounded oddly triumphant, a malicious smirk marring his ugly face. 'And for the others, too.'

'You can't do that!' Nudge cried, but her protests were predictably cut short as Snape sneered at her with hideous contempt, his beaky nose quivering with anticipation, looking almost excited with a sick, twisted excitement and I knew that suddenly, he could.

'Come on,' I said reluctantly to the flock who were shaking with badly suppressed rage with the possible exception of Fang who was looking as coolly composed as always – yet his shoulders held tension. We sat at the back of the classroom, as Snape continued his lesson, hissing spiteful comments in intervals. I was trembling. Just. He. Wait.

* * *

Harry P.O.V:

'Really, Max, why?'

'He's a bleeping ass, that's why,' she said with conviction, stabbing violently at her apple pie with a bronze fork and I knew she was pretending it was more than pastry – like the rippable greasy flesh of Snape's face.

The flock looked uncharacteristically vicious, their shoulders hunched, but their expressions malicious and eyes glittering evilly, like they were planning revenge. Knowing the flock, anything was possible with the frenzied, excited gleam of pure terror. Gazzy was eating a strawberry doughnut and muttering crazily scattered syllables as he shredded the pink icing with his fingers.

Max shrieking at Snape about poisonous lollypops and his over-reacting crap had travelled even surprisingly quickly by Hogwarts standards, and now people were whispering behind cupped hands, most looking grudgingly impressed.

'So she said, "we'd be dead on the floor",' Malfoy's sneering carried purposely clearly over the hushed murmurings, rather than to the specific group of Slytherins he was sniggering with. 'I rather wish they _were _dead on the floor.' He snickered and Crabbe and Goyle snorted stupidly at his side.

Max's tensed position straightened abruptly, her expression suddenly more dangerous than ever – her eyes lingered on a blueberry pie dripping with cream. Her wrist flicked with freakishly quick speed, and the pie flew across the dining hall with a weirdly good length for dripping berries in a pastry the size of a tyre, and slapped Malfoy in the face. Cream splattered.

As you can imagine, that went over like a ton of freaking bricks.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated recently! This chapter was really hard to write, but I managed it – eventually. I got high on MSG a little while ago, and now I have totally planned this whole fan-fic.**

**Teamvampire:** Lol thanks. I am so sorry I didn't update! I'm on holidays now, so there will be more updates to come. And yeah, it was a good episode. :D

**Silentflier:** Thank you, glad you like it!

**GB man:** Awesome. I did, as you could probably tell. And I think that the Unholy Trio (yes, I nicknamed Gazzy, Iggy and Peeves) are going to let all hell go loose. He he.

**Vamps-with-Wings:** Thanks! I know Fang's thoughts were really unorganised, I was just stuck for ideas. It's harder to write about Fang than I thought. Oh well …

**Sarra Elizabeth:** Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's what you think it is. Just to clear it up, a Pensieve is what you put memories in so you can see the whole thing over again, properly.

**Kitty Bridgeta:** So true! If I don't receive a strange look at least once I day, I do something totally random to get the strange look. Anyways. Oh, and thank you!! I am so happy about that! Thanks everyone!! * hugs * And the Angel Thestrals bit reminds me of that kid who says, 'I see dead people.' Have you heard of that? Angel, the adorable scary winged girl. How fitting. LOL. And I love Johnny Depp too! Wow, this was a long reply.

**randomperson ():** Thanks.

**Madeline Cullen:** I am amazingly impressed by the giant rusty spoon of doom. I will have you know that I have my giant rusty fork from hell, so we can battle it out. LOL.

**PLEASE REVIEW! Just press the button ... you know you want to. Wow, that was creepy. Love you all!**


	14. I Didn't Just Hear That, Did I?

**A/N:** **BIG thanks to TwiHard24. Max's ghost story in this chapter is based off her awesome ghost story from her fic, CAMP CULLEN. **

**Harry P.O.V: **

_Max's tensed position straightened abruptly, her expression suddenly more dangerous than ever – her eyes lingered on a blueberry pie dripping with cream. Her wrist flicked with freakishly quick speed, and the pie flew across the dining hall with a weirdly good length for dripping berries in a pastry the size of a tyre, and slapped Malfoy in the face. Cream splattered. _

_As you can imagine, that went over like a ton of freaking bricks._

'A – food – fight.'

McGonagall was livid. After the blueberry pie had slapped Malfoy, the pastry had split: and the cream naturally splattered, dripping blueberries smearing the pathetically eager crowd of snickering Slytherins in a berry explosion. Bless Max's gold-plated heart.

Piercing shrieks had punctured the silence like spiky needles and a banana-fudge pudding had flown with uncannily accurate aim into a dish of chocolate-chip custard. Then, all hell broke loose.

Apple lattice pies were now splattered on the walls and strawberry ice cream was melting in pink puddles on the marble tiles. Soggy iced doughnuts were caked on the tables and people's robes were now distinctly stained orange from a rainfall of pumpkin juice spilling from a particularly large jug.

People had desserts in their hair, and mousse smeared on their faces like army face paint. McGonagall, splattered in iced cupcakes, was shrieking in continuously rising octaves on 'disappointment' and 'stupidity'.

'I don't know who threw the blueberry pie, and I honestly _don't care_,' McGonagall snarled, colouring tomato red but not necessarily from embarrassment, 'but if any of you dare participate in such childish behaviour ever again, the consequences will be so much worse than a detention. Mr. Filch now has to clean this dining hall single-handedly, and I all expect you to give him a formal apology letter, one by one. In the meantime, eighty points from each house, and understand that I am absolutely – disgusted – in – you – all. I expected you all to know better.'

McGonagall breathed in a raspy and angered breath, and strangely pinched the bridge of her unusually beaky nose, her viciousness calming. There was the momentary flash of people exhaling, recoiling from the permanent flinch, and a few half-hearted, cautious murmurs. Her eyes gazed at the abashed crowd – most who were staring in embarrassment at the floor – and smiled a smile that looked more like a grimace.

'If anyone's interested,' McGonagall said, glaring at randomly placed individuals caked in dessert with unnecessary coolness. Though she was glaring, she looked much less angry. 'There's a bonfire tonight – as a welcoming party for our foreign exchange guests. Please feel free to bring marshmallows, Pop-Tarts, crumpets, graham crackers and generally all foods that you can actually spear on a toasting fork. Any stupidity – ' she abruptly snarled darkly, 'and I will personally throw you into the bonfire.'

* * *

**Max P.O.V: Two hours later …**

'This is just too weird,' Harry muttered, impaling a gooey marshmallow on a toasting fork, and sticking it into the strangely turquoise hot embers flickering in the driftwood fire. Ron was eating a Pop-Tart (apparently even wizards eat Pop-Tarts - it's like, a universal thing), warm strawberry jam spilling, looking like blood in the rays of silvery moonlight emitting from the smoky-grey clouds in the night sky.

'Why?' I licked the hot chocolate dripping on the bronze fork, the fudge melting on my tongue, hot and weirdly sweet, and then speared a strawberry from the fruit platter into my fondant dish. Harry pretended not to hear.

Everyone was naturally crowded near the flickering turquoise ashes, sticking their impaled marshmallows into the pale blue flames on the edge, talking, and flicking strawberries at one another. Lanterns, in stained-glass jam-jars were placed in the moon bright, emerald-tinted grass, like oddly glowing fire-flies, or shimmering gems from the candlelight.

Then the murmuring dulled – a lantern was sparkling rainbows on Parvati Patil, her hair shining strangely golden-pink, and her face in shadow, like the avenging angel of death. Oh, ghost stories.

Parvati was hissing her story in a frighteningly soft voice, occasionally rising to a frighteningly soprano pitch, like fingernails scraping down a blackboard. Some people were snickering at the Buffy the Vampire Slayer storyline, but it was curiously tense silence punctured with mock screams. The stories continued, one by one, getting progressively scarier.

Fang put the lantern so it glowed his hair golden, his eyes glittering from the moon-bright gleam, his face was basked in shadows, and seemed to turn his skin freakishly pale colour, tinged with green. He looked like he was supposed to be in a 50s black-and-white horror film, and there was a few collective shudders at the frightening expression his face held.

Fang told a ghost story that was our childhood, only being impressively overly-dramatic and graphic of the hideously mutated experiments, occasionally wincing. I was unintentionally flinching and Angel slipped her clammy hand into mine, but most people seemed either disgusted (there were many 'ewws'), or impressed in a creepily fascinated way.

I took the lantern, so the light made my eyes shimmer in the strangely golden, jewel-bright glow, and breathed the story in an unnaturally soft, letting the words flow like strange horror musical notes, in a frightening pitch – scarier than Parvati's.

'Once upon a time, there was a woman named ... um ... Ella. She was eerily, oddly beautiful, and thought her beauty was a gift, and she used it like a whip. She was strangely admired, and people thought she was more beautiful than a fairy-tale princess – but Ella was cruel, and though she was like the glossy pearl in an oyster, she was cold. She felt no emotion, and was caught up in her twisted vanity, her compassion was as ruined as her gold-plated heart.

Ella lived in the woodlands, like a princess in her trapped in her magical tower, alone with her disturbing beauty, frozen and unloving. She had heard of a marble palace, ruined with its blood-red roses, twisted in garlands of blackened ivy, and tipped with unnaturally spiky thorns that could make a man bleed to death with a single piercing slash. The stories said that there was a treasure in the attic that was a silvery heart, and whoever ate the heart would be the most beautiful thing in existence, that had ever existed. It was strange that already unconditionally beautiful people had tried to find the heart, and yet whoever went into the marble palace never. Came. Out.

Ella, though already shamelessly beautiful, wanted to eat the silvery heart to be the most beautiful woman in existence, that ever had existed. She found the marble palace in the woodlands, ruined with the blood-red roses, twisted garlands of blackened ivy and tipped with those unnaturally spiky thorns, and yet, she cut at the roses with a dagger, and the thorns did stab her satin dress with single, piercing slashes. And yet no blood was spilt. _Yet._

When her ivory-skinned fingers brushed the doorknob, it eerily swung open, revealing the musty scent of deadened roses, and the her dusty reflection on the crystals on a broken chandelier. Ella walked up the porcelain staircase, brushing at the dusty, opaque silver mirrors, spidery silk cobwebs tangling in her golden curls, 'till she eventually reached the attic.

The attic was stripped almost bare, lit by a golden candelabra's melted candles flickering unusually bright, glossy flames, though the palace was empty. Or so it seemed. The attic's floor was white-gold tiles, and a single jewellery box. The box was as white-gold as the tiles, with swirling silver roses painted, and was emitting a tinkling song, beautiful but creepy. Ella opened the jewellery box to reveal a pale lavender musical box.

And in that box was another …

And another …

And another …

And another …

And another …

And another …

Ella finally found a tiny musical box, shining, glowing gold, like it was illuminated from the embedded jewels – from it was a chiming, bell-like sound, punctured with a thumping, the thumping of a _beating heart_. Ella slowly wound the musical chime, and the lid creaked open …'

People were trembling, as my voice trailed off into creepily soft breaths of silver-white air that swirled in the unseasonably icy summer breeze of the night, leaning in, all eyes gleaming moon-bright with tension.

I screamed: a piercing note of pure terror, shrilly echoing in the moonlit woodlands, vibrating off the chilly-paned castle windows, the horrified scream that sent midnight-black ravens flying from the fir-trees.

People impulsively jumped, flinching and screaming in harmonized fright, followed by involuntary, shocked shudders and friends squeezing each other's hands. Ron said, 'HOLY CRAP!', which caused a few reluctant giggles stifling the screams. I chuckled, until the calming bonfire crowd were all laughing at their unexpected fright.

'Um, thankyou, Miss Ride,' Professor McGonagall said weakly, clasping a bony hand over her heart, and the giggles dimmed. Iggy and Nudge were toasting strawberries into the flaming turquoise embers, and Gazzy and Angel were curled up, getting gradually sleepier.

'Very impressive, Maximum,' A harsh voice rose from the dipping emerald branches of a fir tree raining a downpour of pinecones, a person as shadowed as midnight in the darkness, lit by the lanterns as if like the avenging Messiah, scary as my story, yet there was a reluctant amusement in the tone. Fang's shoulders tensed. 'But I know better.'

The person came into lighter focus, and he was lined, with slightly inflamed, reddish-pink welts on his arms, and a purply-green bruise mottling his face, making his right eyes appear swollen. Nobody appeared, not even the younger flock, seemed to have noticed him.

* * *

**Harry P.O.V: **

'Remus,' breathed Hermione, as the man, limping haphazardly, curled at her feet, brushing his toffee-grey hair aside carelessly with an inflamed hand, breathing rapidly. 'Shouldn't you be in hospital?' Remus, shrugged carelessly, looking a little irritated, but managed a smile at the concern obvious in her tone.

'I know a story,' Remus continued, 'the creepiest story, much more frightening than your fairy-tales of beating hearts and the vengeance for vain beauty on the conceited. I know a story that affects every supernatural creature, every mutant hybrid, that dare walked the earth out of the shadows, where they're supposed to belong. Wizards, vampires, winged babies … werewolves,' he murmured apprehensively, gesturing coldly to himself.

'In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, "let there be light" and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and He separated the light from the darkness. Genesis, versus 1 –5.'

I know a story, of the devil incarcerate, that spills the blood of all the supernatural creatures, of all the mutant hybrids until that hell's demon finds the Chosen One of that species, the immortal god that leads the supernatural out of the darkness, into the new world, of freedom, peace, sincerity, equality – and kills that immortal.

The devil incarnate didn't believe in separating the light from the darkness. He wished to combine "light" – meaning the creatures that could walk in sunlight without becoming ash – with the "darkness", meaning the creatures that drink blood. He wished to create supernatural creatures, demonic in nature, damned from the holy places, more cursed than the vampires that cannot feel emotion, more cursed than the werewolves that turn into the thing they fear the most at every full moon. These creatures would drink the mixed blood of the immortal gods, and become dominating, controlling, nearly impossible to kill, pure evil.'

'The demons' soul was split, and he too was immortal, his soul everlasting in their cases, but if he were to drink the blood of the eternal gods, he would be as indestructible as goblin armour. He would be on a genocide streak, torturing the innocent, walking amongst the mortal, unstoppable. Who could kill him if all the Chosen Ones were all dead?'

There was a horrified, tense pause.

'Are you talking about Voldemort?' I said, feeling confused.

Remus gazed at me appraisingly, his head twisted in surprise, 'I am not,' Remus said, sounding indescribably bitter, like he tasted ashes, 'just talking about Voldemort.' Remus tersely cut off, surprisingly tense and alert; neck twisting at a distorted angle at the brittle pinecones of a fir tree in the entwining field of the forest.

'I've risked too much telling you this,' Remus murmured, 'but I will pay the consequences for my actions, in the hope it shall save many innocent lives – yours included, Maximum Ride.' He patted Max's ash-blonde hair, yet the gesture was not condescending and bounded, in a strangely graceful, dog-like leaps, into the woodlands.

'That was the most … weirdly realistic story,' Ron said, sniggering dully, his imagination predictably set in stone, 'realistic but impossible – immortal creatures don't exist, not even vampires, who are living in everlasting life _after _death, but still can be killed.' He was confident, but I thought otherwise.

Ginny stood up too: her fondant dish fell to the shimmering lantern-lit grasses with a tinkling of glass shattering, and a lone strawberry rolled off into the darkness. 'Goodnight,' she said impulsively, her tone uninterested and uncaring, 'I – I'm tired. I need to … I … 'night.' She scurried anxiously towards the castle doors.

'She's been acting strange,' Hermione said nervously, frowning. 'I wonder …' she lapsed into gloomy silence, looking oddly discomforted, while Ron grunted with badly suppressed impatience at the cut-off sentences. Hermione kept murmuring occasionally, looking angrier as the moments passed, eventually shrugging it off. 'How did Remus – escape?'

'The Knight Bus,' I said immediately, 'probably under Moody's confiscated Invisibility Cloak.'

'_It keeps appearing and then disappearing,' Max explained, still sounding somewhat apprehensive but I got the distinct, worrying impression she'd seen us staggering, like on the brink of a nervous collapse, down the rickety steps of the Knight Bus, 'at Purge & Dowse Ltd, though apparently nobody is boarding as a passenger.'_

'Invisible,' Max breathed, comprehension dawning on her tired, but suddenly illuminated face. 'Oh. Oh. _Oh._'

'_Oh, really?' Hermione kept her pitch airy and non-committal, though she appeared to be trembling with tense anticipation and I knew chameleon ghouls and Disillusionment Charms was running as a possibility through her mind. __**And Mad-Eye trying to board the Knight Bus in a desperate escape attempt from the hospital ward, under his spare Invisibility Cloak, last week**__, 'I wouldn't know why that would be.'_

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

It was nearly midnight. Rhythmical snoring was emitting from Ron's silky, drawn curtains, being ruffled occasionally by his breathing; and the glossy windowpanes were shimmering with ice. My head was pressed on the opaque glass, gazing at the violet sky, which was gleaming with silvery-white moonlight and the sparkling star constellations.

I couldn't sleep. Ron had set aside Remus' story as imaginable yet unrealistic, for immortal creatures didn't not exist – he'd said that even though vampires were immortal because they'd already died, they could still be killed. I wasn't that gullible.

Even Max's story, about Ella living in frozen beauty, yet wanting to be the most beautiful mortal creature because of her twisted vanity, was strangely similar, only in a more frightening, but less realistic, way. And Remus' "the Chosen One" … _neither live while the other survives_ … was Voldemort trying to kill two birds with one stone? Worried, I turned over …

* * *

**Max P.O.V:**

The world was weirdly foggy again. I was in the meadow, the woodland trees ferns, unusually wet with clear crystal droplets glistening on the leaves, spidery webs of moss shimmering on boulders. Wildflowers in the emerald grass, still indescribably perfect.

The sunlight was not a haze of buttery light reflecting in tiny diamonds, but dappled like it was approaching twilight, giving rays of pale, leaf-green light in shafts, like some emerald crystal cut into a million facets … and people.

Inhumanely beautiful people, with glittering skin like it had diamonds embedded on the surface, shining with an everlasting glow, gleaming hair, perfect and graceful, their pale lavender eyelids closed.

I sat by the woman, with pearly ivory, sparkling skin and beautiful dark curls falling to her waist like a heavenly halo. The man had bronze, carelessly tousled hair, looking as indescribingly perfect as the meadow, which dimmed in comparison to their beauty.

Their hands were clasped, wintry-pale fingers linked together. Their eyes opened, and they were golden, an unnatural ochre, like topaz gems. The woman smiled a dazzling smile that looked like shining stars were embedded in her pure white, glittering teeth, brighter than sunlight.

'Don't be scared, honey,' the woman's voice was like the chiming of bells, as devastatingly lovely as her beautiful face, 'my husband and I not going to hurt you.' She gracefully stood, as delicate as a porcelain doll, and danced to stand, effortlessly elegant, in the wildflowers

'We're here to help,' the man's voice was like velvet, and he was as excruciatingly beautiful as his wife, his unusually bronze hair ruffling in the wind, and his smell was like lavender and sun.

'You're safe in your dreams, Maximum. It's better if you try to stay here.' I blinked, and he was standing, just as gracefully perfect in the wildflowers, braiding a violet flower chain – he placed it in his wife's hair, where it was an odd colour of fragile petals in her dark curls. 'The others are coming soon ...'

The dream faded …

And I was staring at the pale lavender silk of curtains, with emotions I barely had words for.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, this might be a very confusing chapter, but it's very important one. Pay attention to the stories in particular, and Max's dream! **

**Some of you mind not have understood my last chapter. The order of the format was: the italics were the short sequel to Dumbledore asking for their memories. The next part was Max's dream on the morning of their first day. The Max P.O.V was on the last day of their first week. And the Harry P.O.C was the beginning of the food-fight.**

**Madeline Cullen: **LOL, bring it on!You, me and** mandyfur123 **who has a ginormous SPORK of death will battle it out. Also, if I online die, my best friend Em will avenge me with her numb chunks. He he. Also, thank you. Snape will get what's coming to him! Mwa ha ha ha.

**Santaclausrules18: **Lol, I hope you find you're getting appreciation you know you deserve XD.

**GB man: **Thanks.

**FlockRoxs: **Thanks to you too!

**Mandyfur123: **Just read the note to Madeline Cullen and us three will ATTACK! And is a spork like a plastic salad tosser?

**TeamVampire: **He he, yes, go Aussies. If you don't mind me asking, where are you from? I hope you understand the layout when I explained it above! I read it over, and I could see where you were coming from. And thanks about the pie thing. I love pie. And I think it's pretty safe to say there's going to be a major vampire input … I think you already know if what variety by Max's dream. XD

**Vamps-with-Wings: **Totally! One day Malfoy will get more than a black eye and I pie in his face. I suggest … MURDER. LOL, just kidding. Well, not really.

**randomperson (): **Thanks. I hope you get the formatting as well.

**rachel Bauerlein (): **I always accept advice! Thanks for your constructive criticism … I hope you like this chappie! I was on a roll with this one … and I like Max POV better. It's easier to write in a particular character's, isn't it?

**Ghost (): **Thanks.

**Sarra Elizabeth: **There is ALWAYS a food-fight! I thought it would be pretty funny … I've always wanted to have a food fight, but I wasn't stupid enough to think I could get away with one … And thankyou! I feel special now :D

**BlueWingedKitty: **Without a doubt she hates Malfoy! I don't know if you've read Harry Potter, but this one is my plot mixed with the Half-Blood Prince story. Snape is DADA teacher and Slughorn is Potions. I just don't like him much. And no, you are NOT stupid. But thanks for putting it on alert anyways. No, I have not seen the movie … sounds extremely trippy …

And as you may have noticed, Ginny is acting extremely odd. Does she suspect something? All will be revealed!

And the vampires? Well. They are part of the later twist!

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! **


	15. In Search of Deluxe Sugar Quills

**To any Aussies and New Zealanders: HAPPY ANZAC DAY! **

**Thursday night, week 2, DETENTION WITH SNAPE. **

**Max P.O.V: **

'1 Flobberworm down, 9,999 to go.'

I flicked a Flobberworm into the jar of Murtlap tentacles. The tentacles were turquoise, the colour of exotic seaweed, driftwood flames and shimmering pools sparkling from sunlight – but the Flobberworms were nearly void of colour, their slimy, curiously flat bodies, or amoeba limb as it more resembled, tinged a sickening greyish colour like whitewashed concrete.

The tentacle juice was purple – the exotic turquoise of the tentacles its only glittering blue and the Flobberworms like stampeded slugs in an otherwise beautiful pool of colour. Pickling 10,000 Flobberworms in Murtlap tentacle juice was just twisted and unusual, and unsurprisingly, pointless – even though all detentions are naturally pointless; but this one was like the icing on the cake. Rage and hostility was dripping off the flock.

I sighed. In regular intervals, Snape would stick his face round the doorway, his weirdly beaky nose wrinkling at the smell of the pickling juice and a malicious smirk twisting his oily, cruel mouth at our miserable expressions. The flock were suggesting complex, hideous revenges for Snape in between breaks of his Spanish Inquisition, glancing up with vindictive sweetness that looked more like unconditional innocence to the untrained eye whenever he sniffed at them in undisguised disgust – his footsteps could be heard stalking the corridors spitefully, so it was easy to pretend to be working. Iggy, Nudge and Gazzy were discussing their original Itex revenge with the combination of zebras, beef jerky and bubbles.

"_And, like, the halls are full of zebras,' Iggy muttered sarcastically._

'_And suddenly tons of bubbles are everywhere,' said the Gasman._

'_And then everyone starts eating beef jerky,' Nudge suggested._

'_Yeah,' Iggy said, rubbing his hands together. 'I'll grab a zebra, Gaz, you fill all the bubbles with your trademark scent, so people are choking and gagging; and then let's throw beef jerky right into their eyes!"_

'Now _that's _a plan!' they said together and collapsed into giggles. Snape's oily head crooked round the doorway, strange confusion on his face momentarily until it twisted into its usual smirk – their chuckles had disguised his lingering, bat-like footsteps approaching the room. Their laugher was cut short and they had the grace to look remotely abashed even though they were probably internally still giggling. Snape's black emotionless eyes were narrowed with suspicion.

'Ten more to go.'

Hours had passed. Through those hours that flock had been alternately complaining and laughing in choppy intervals, like who could eat their weight in gummy bears and what would happen if Gazzy put a Dung-bomb in a Halloween pumpkin at the feast. I told him to save it for April Fools Day.

The glass of the jars were now glittering with the exotic turquoise tentacles and the curiously flat, whitewashed bodies of stained-purple Flobberworms, all pickled and shimmering but not necessarily in a nice way. I imagined it was what glitter would look like on an oil slick. Our fingers were dyed a pale lavender. Snape returned, sneering an unpleasant dismissal, barely glancing at us.

'I _hate _Snape!' Nudge surprisingly spat, 'I'm going to get him back for this if it's the _last thing I do!_''

* * *

**Mid-October, 5 weeks later ... **

'This is hell,' I grumbled.

'Suck it up, honey,' Ginny said, ruffling her glossy dark-red hair. It was in trendy curls today, perfectly coiled into smooth, sparkling ringlets instead of the usual stick-straight layers. I wondered if her curls would spring. Her boyfriend, Dean Thomas, took her hand, parting the crowd of awaiting students like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea.

Nudge was naturally riding such a weird high it was like she was skipping in her polka-dotted Wellington boots. We were waiting in the Entrance Hall for our first Hogsmeade visit and Nudge was characteristically overly excited. I was naturally _not_ riding such a weird high as she was – the hall was crowded with people looking strangely colourful, flashing unexpected rainbows whenever the dull sunlight glimmered on sheath of neon-bright material instead of the usual black darkness.

Harry and Ron were snorting with typical Y-chromosome humour about Harry being whacked in the head with a hockey stick the last time the under-tens hockey team tried to fit in a small space like this one. Harry had gotten a grand total of three stitches. Hermione was standing as far from Ron as she could without actually being squished against the castle wall.

She was ignoring him since he'd began dating Lavender Brown who was like England's answer to Malibu Barbie which is the kindest metaphor I could think of without putting in a subtle innuendo or a swearword in between 'Malibu' and 'Barbie.' Nudge and Angel were momentarily distracting her to give her a nickname of "'Mione" while Hermione kept throwing Ron death glares in frequent intervals every time Nudge paused for a breath – which was obviously not often.

It was naturally freezing. The castle's windows were glossy with sparkling frosted glass and cold with the hail droplets in the panes. The grounds were glistening with ice snow and blue-white icicles dripping off the tree branches. The lake was now an ice-skating rink, silver-white ice permanently frozen on the surface … the whole atmosphere had dropped forty degrees in less than ten days. That was why the rainbows shining off clothing from the dull, unusual sunlight was so strange.

Today, a chilly breeze was clearing the grounds in an icy whirlwind of tiny snowflakes and people were shivering, huddled in their multi-coloured snow jackets in the unusually cold hall. It would've been noticeably colder if all the body heat emanating from the shuddering student body weren't warming up the hall a little.

The walk to Hogsmeade was unbearable. Living in Antarctica hadn't made me immune to the unnatural coldness that shimmered through the villages in that whirlwind of icy sleet and snowflakes, and I instinctively shivered in my faux-fur lined parka as we made our way through the frosted streets, wind icing my face that wasn't covered by a thickly knitted scarf.

The village was still beautiful despite the coldness: the windows were sparkling with the same frosted glass icicles and a fine shimmering of dusted snow was like winter wonderland perfection on the stores, with their coloured fairy-lights and golden gleaming. Ruby iced berries in shining garlands of holly leaves were on doorsteps though it was nowhere near Christmas. Ron pointed a trembling yet gloved hand to what looked like a candy store.

It had swirly barley-cone golden poles with glittering ice-white icicles shining moon-bright and more of the coloured fairy lights adorning the doorstep in an intricate lattice followed by a bower with the holly garland. The smell was like melting toffee, quite a change from the constant mist-and-turkey smell thing the castle had going on.

'It's looks even nicer when it's really Christmas,' Hermione whispered.

The décor inside was more appropriate to the upcoming holiday, Halloween, with a fitting orange-and-black theme. Orange and black streamers in alternative colours, crisscrossing the ceiling in heavenly blossoming petals and a jack-o'-lantern shining soft, dappled orange lights in the store like some neon-bright sunlight. The walls held black sparkling lights and the counter held a display of intricate swirling orange-and-black flavoured lollies.

We tried all the chocolate samples, including strawberry mousse/coconut nougat chocolate and something that was like raspberry liquorice mixed with dark mint toffee chocolate. Hermione bought us some Deluxe Sugar Quills that pretty much guaranteed a sugar high for at least five hours afterwards, while Harry and Ron were laughing at some Blood-Flavoured Lollipops for vampires to see if I would try and stick one in Malfoy's sleek white-blonde hair at the Halloween feast.

'As tempting as that is, I've got a restraining Order, remember?' I said, looking at the glistening crimson gelatine-frozen lollipop with deep regret, imagining the red-dye colouring Malfoy's perfect blonde hairstyle with scarlet, bloody streaks. 'And I don't think the teachers would be too incredibly impressed with The Grand Food Fight Mark 2, despite the glory of blood-flavoured lollipops being flung into unsuspecting Slytherin mouths.' I sighed longingly and turned away from the lollipop barrel. Hermione started snickering, carefully avoiding Ron's typically confused gaze.

'Ah, technicalities,' Harry said dismissively. 'And I'm sure the restraining order was totally relevant with the … ahem … blueberry pie incident of the Grand Food Fight Mark 1.'

'Like you said,' I said with frosty sweetness, 'technicalities. The restraining order says – and I specifically quote from paragraph two – "Miss Maxine Ride is required not be allowed within standing, sitting or walking distance of Mr. Draco Malfoy that allows her to preform the violent solutions of hitting, slapping, punching talking, or kicking range of him, and doing so will resolve with rather unfortunate consequences." No throwing distances were mentioned. And you can count _that _as perfect recall, Harry.'

'Impressive,' Harry grinned, 'memorized with that electronically-stimulated hybrid mind.' I shrugged innocently with fitting perfection of being able to memorize full paragraphs thanks to those sadistic jackasses – and amongst other things with being jackasses – who fully ruined my life. Not that I said that aloud.

We spent the rest of the afternoon crowding stores and irritating the innocent, unsuspecting assistants that became steadily more pissed-off everytime Nudge would sweetly ask how the colour-change ink in the extra-large quill worked for the tenth time or how to wind-up the basic step-by-step Wind-Up Nose-Biting Teacup for Children Under 11. After a few hours of tormenting, nothing more exciting happened than drinking Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks.

The wind was fiercer now. Not just the mild whirlwind of icy breeze and soft snowflakes, but frosty wind that was like icy needles piercing into numb flesh, like the snow gnats the School implanted the remainder of wasp stingers onto them to see if combining an already biting creature with a stinging one would have any 'interesting' effects. And believe the air quotes around 'interesting.' The after-effects were VERY interesting in a morbidly gross kind of way. Angel and I took a trip to the bathroom and when we came back, the scene was even more interesting than those genetically modified gnats. Hence, in the same morbidly gross way.

Katie Bell was drifting in the sky was an expression like the angel of destruction wears as it watches torment raining on a burning city: beautiful and terrible. She was screaming in anguish, her limbs distorted at an awkward angle, spasms like invisible electric currents were rippling over her flesh and the painful scream ripping from her lungs made it sound like her whole body was on fire. Katie's friend, Leanne's face was screwed up in horror, kind of like the colour of the snow in New York City, a pale chalky complexion tinged with a sickly grey.

Katie's twisting limbs suddenly fell into jerky twitching and then she dropped like deadweight. It was like she had fallen in a graceless dive into an upside-down bellyflop sans the splashing water and the screaming of, "shit! That hurt!" as the salty water vibrates on raw skin. Harry and Ron managed to catch Katie, but she was writhing so badly they had to put her on the ground. It looked like she was having a seizure, only worse.

_So what do you do when someone's having a seizure, Max?_

Screw you, Voice. Would you care to elaborate? I didn't think so. I knew that in cases of seizures, you were supposed to turn a person on their side to prevent choking on fluids or vomit, like what happened to binge drinkers who accidentally died after suffocating on their own bile. And to loosen any tight necklines in case it blocks their airways. Nudge must've been thinking about the School's basic paramedic training program, the only practical training those pricks gave us, because she promptly rolled Katie over to her side, despite the fact that Katie was still twitching like a spider whose leg has been ripped off.

_Remember to get someone to cushion her neck. _

Fang took off her scarf and used it to cushion her painfully jerking head that reminded me of the necks of partially decapitated mannequin dolls, except hers was scarily alive instead of blank and expressionless and plastic. The flock were all treating her like a seizure patient and it seemed to be working, because her twitches were now less violent and her breathing was no longer raspy and harsh but more even, except for the fact Katie was now unconscious.

_She needs someone to call for help, now, Max. Preferbly not 9-1-1. _

Hagrid, Harry's friend, appeared suddenly. Hagrid was an imaginative cook and his unpredictable experiments weren't always entirely edible, but in a way that was unusually hard for human teeth, especially his rock cakes. Amazingly, our bird DNA injected into our blood stems gave our teeth some qualities of the average hawk beak, and our teeth can actually cut into his hard treacle that the others have to soften by the fire. He stared at Katie for a moment, and scooped her up. The movement jerked Katie awake and her limbs started twitching horrifically again like she was suffering from a renewed seizure, and her piercing screams began again.

'What happened?' Angel spluttered, her usually angelic face frightened. Leanne's hands trembled towards a shimmering jade-green necklace encrusted in the gleaming snow, gems shining bright against the white. It had an ominous glow, like the glow-in-the-dark stickers in a haunted house. A tag on the fine silver linked necklace read, 'CURSED'. Great. Even when we're in the middle of freaking nowhere, curses still manage to find us.

* * *

_Just like the bronze-haired man had promised, more inhumanely beautiful people were now in my dreams. _

_A petite woman, h__er black hair was a halo of gothic, spiky disarray around her exquisite, elfin face and was flawlessly beautiful with her dainty, frozen features. Her hands were clasped with another man's: he had honey-blonde hair and white crescent-moons criss-crossing like a lattice on his arms and fanning like the petals of a blossoming rose. _

_They'd come in week two and were unusually quiet – the woman had a distracted, amazing ethereal gaze and her husband was so strangely silent. She was so doll-like and gracefully tiny and the man looked as if he could crush her – except that his gaze held so much glowing affection that nobody would've thought he'd actually would. None of them ever spoke that night._

_In week four, came another couple. A man with the same golden-blonde hair and weirdly glittering shadows illuminating his tired topaz eyes, and a woman with caramel curls, as shimmering as her pale, diamond sparkling skin, and unusually soft as silk. _

_The woman had flitted elegantly to me, her smell like roses and soap, and hugged me. They sat with the other couple, in a crescent-moon circle, giving sparkling, devastatingly perfect smiles. All of them would question me in turn, all remaining like shimmering silver-white marble statues, frozen and as perfect as their smiles. _

_Tonight, another couple came. While the others had inescapable, elegant glacial beauty, the man's beauty was like golden-sunlight despite the unnatural muscles that blossomed under the surface of his glittering, porcelain skin. He gave a booming laugh that radiated happiness, rather than the cool exteriors of his family. The woman was the most beautiful. Her hair was golden, __falling in unnaturally silky, glossy waves down her back like some heavenly waterfall and her porcelain skin was pure perfection. _

_The smell emanating from her was flowery, pink roses and violets. Her look of dislike marred her gorgeous face, like she'd rather be anywhere but here. She looked flawlessly dainty, like a gazelle, as her husband dragged her. She glared at me and snarled with surprising malice for someone so gorgeous. Her husband rolled his eyes. In her arms was a stunningly beautiful girl, with silky bronze curls and perfect features on her rosy, subtly luminous skin, glowing like a pearl. Now nine inhumanely beautiful people sat before me._

'_My name is Carlisle Cullen,' the man with the pale golden-blonde hair spoke in a quiet musical voice, 'and this is my family: my wife Esme, Edward and Bella, Rosalie and Emmett, Alice and Jasper. And this is Edward and Bella's daughter, Renesmee. She's going to show you everything you've been missing while you're awake.' _

_The gorgeous little girl placed a hot, perfect hand on my face. _

* * *

In the distance, came an unexpected roar of fury in Snape's raspy, spiteful voice.

'Who put a Portable Swamp in my office!?'

* * *

**A/N: OK, so the update was a little slow. I don't get inspired sometimes and get really enthusiastic about others. And from now on, I'm going to follow a bit of the Harry Potter and the H/B Prince line. **

**Oh, and everyone, I can fully admit that there is going to be SERIOUS TWILIGHT!!! A TRIPLE CROSSOVER. **

**EdwardCullenIsCoolerThanYou: **LOL. Edward and co have officially come!

**MissStud: **Hot Draco. Hmm. I can see where you're coming from. Harry/Draco fics are always interesting. And Max is fully going to GET Draco. But not just with pie. And your Twilight point was a classic! And you're right, too. ;D

**mandyfur123: **Oh, right. LOL. I think I know what you're talking about. P.S: and you are going to lose, honey. Bring it on. As my cousin and I would say: Bring it. Suck it. Lick it. FINE! Ha ha.

**GrimmGurl4Lyf3: **Ha. I sound like a drug. :D

**Madeline Cullen: **Does your friend literally have a flamethrower? Cause mine really does have numbchucks XD. Oh, and an online battle goes like this. Have you heard of ? Cause we are so bringing it in the Battledome.

**Sarra Elizabeth: **Further chapters will tell how Max is meant to stay in her dreams. I have a plan! Really, I do. It's on Post-It Notes. And thanks so much!!

**Vamps-with-Wings: **Thank you!! I was really excited when I finally wrote it, lol. There's going to be a lot more dreams and a lot more Cullens/Hales coming up.

**FlockRoxs:** Thanks. I got excited when I read that. I've progressed to an awesome!

**Bookits: Thank you.**

**BlueWingedKitty: **Yay! Well done. And that's OK!

**ME!!!! (): **First of all, awesome penname! Secondly, food-fights make everything better. Like pie. Hence the title of the last chapter!

**Kitty Bridgeta: Thankyou! **

**Teamvampire: **Yeah, I hate Filch too (I hate a lot of people in HP) so I'm making him suffer. Mwa ha ha. OK. The driftwood question. The driftwood question was supposed to be in alliance to Twilight, like the fire at La Push, First Beach. It's meant to be a way of how the worlds are combining bit by bit, though no one realizes it. As to where they actually GOT it … I have no clue. XD. And as for Remus' creepiness … what can I say? It's the secret of werewolves. They know things we don't. And he escaped from St. Mungo's. He got hurt during the fight from book 5. (See chap. 3). And no, Ginny is NOT the devil incarcerate. That's all part of the bigger picture. It's complicated, but it all works out eventually. Oh, and I'm from Adelaide. I guess you got Disneyworld and I got the Giant Rocking Horse. LOL.

**Jesus Freak 242: **Calm down. Everything will be explained as time goes on. Oh yeah, and I will NEVER make Max go mushy. Scout's honour. Though I never was a Scout …

**TwiHard24: **Thanks Julie! XD

**Greyskys: **OK, it might sound random now, but it will fit soon! I tried to put the dates. The Thursday at the beginning is week 2. The Hogsmeade visit is moving on to late October, near Halloween. And the dream is set that night. But thanks anyway!

**OK, everyone, I'm going to be replying via comment now, instead of writing it on this page. Unless you would prefer I reply this way.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!! **


	16. Lavender Brown Must Die

**A/N: Heyy. My monitor screwed up and I lost most of the actual chapter 16 so this is a substitute chapter 'till I can be back in** **action.**

**Harry P.O.V:**

The common room was strangely empty. It was snowing: the stained-glass windows lit with pearly frosted glass, opaque and mysterious with crusted snow; and icicles that were fragilely blue-white.

_I'm not gonna state my case anymore  
Cause I haven't got a leg to stand on  
I'm not gonna take the leap anymore  
Cause I got no mat to land on._

The Gasman, Nudge and Iggy had made an unnaturally flawless replica of the sphinx, an igloo that looked like it was cut from a glittering crystal until it collapsed in chunky squares of glistening coconut ice on Gaz, and an ice sculpture of Kate Moss, perfection to her snow-encrusted lips that shimmered in the snow-tinted sunlight.

_I'm not gonna smoke that shit anymore  
It'll only get me thinking  
And I better not paddle upstream anymore  
Cause this canoe is sinking._

_No, no, no, no, no, no. _

People were having a snowball fight, making the fragile icicles shatter with the tinking sound of breaking glass on the icy sheen on the ground, leaving nothing but delicate spiky shards, and snowballs were splattering the frosty glass of the towers with a faint crushing sound.

_Are you alright? (pretty much)  
Are you okay? (pretty much)  
You got your health? (pretty much)  
You know the way? (pretty much)  
You know your limit? (pretty much)  
You understand? (pretty much)  
Are you the man? (pretty much) (pretty much)_

I sighed. Katie Bell had nearly died a few days ago. The necklace was put on a porcelain mannequin's neck in the DADA classroom, its jade gems shining in the snow-tinted sunlight of its glass case, glittering in an ornate silver-wrought mirror blossoming with metallic roses that was supposed to make you see a hideous reflection.

_Citizens don't stand up anymore  
There's no point losing face  
Sound off! 1 2 3 4  
Politics in space_

It was deadly and beautiful. Like the musical box that emitted a tinkly sinister tune and we became curiously sleepy … or vampires: disconcertingly gorgeous but with fangs that glinted silver in the moonlight shining with poison. Or a girl with golden tendrils framing her luminous pearly face and being the devil's spawn …

With Katie in hospital, Snape was grimly complacent and seemed spitefully cheerful, twisted, making unnecessarily harsh hints on the Quidditch Cup having the Slytherin house team engraved on the glossy golden metal.

_**I'm not gonna be polite**__ anymore  
Cause everybody's got bad manners  
I'm not gonna make any plans anymore  
Cause the works are full of spanners  
I'm __**not gonna meditate**__ anymore  
__**The revolution is off the agenda**__  
I'm a baby boomer's son  
And I'm never gonna reach Nirvana_

My Quidditch team was unenthusiastic. The need to find a replacement Chaser had been of strangely high tension, 'till Ginny suggested Dean Thomas. The pressure had been eerily broken like it had been in a fragile glass-spun sphere like the prophecies and had smashed into tiny spiky shards of crushed glass and swirling smoke.

_Are you alright? (pretty much)  
Are you okay? (pretty much)  
You got your health? (pretty much)  
You know the way? (pretty much)  
You know your limit? (pretty much)  
You understand? (pretty much)  
Are you the man? (pretty much) (pretty much)_

I had felt unusually light, what I imagined floating on Cloud Nine would be like. The team blossomed, performing perfectly, like graceful doves, as breathtaking as Max looked when she flew, even my Beaters who looked impossibly elegant even wielding metal clubs. Then the hope vanished with the presence of Lavender Brown. Well. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

_Citizens don't stand up anymore  
There's no point losing face  
Sound off! 1 2 3 4  
Politics in space_

If looks could kill, Lavender would be turning somersaults under her gravestone by now.

_The sixties were 50 years ago  
You know  
__**Get over it!**_

* * *

**Hermione P.O.V: **

I hated Lavender Brown.

She wasn't perfection, but she was so irritatingly girly. She acted like Little Miss Perfect, but with a strangely spiteful edge, like she was a Barbie that carried pepper spray. Gold-plated heart. Sweet 'n' sour.

_He's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar  
The only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star  
He's the song in the car I keep singing  
Don't know why I do. _

Blonde hair in a French plait braided with shimmering pink ribbons. Pink platform wedge sandals. Glossy pink lipgloss. But then unusually malicious. You get the picture. She irked me, even sitting cross-legged, tossing her hair expressively in a wave of rose-and-vanilla scented wonder at Ron. Urgh.

_He walks by me  
Can he tell that I can't breathe?  
And there he goes, so perfectly  
The kind of flawless I wish I could be._

I grimaced, and stiffly drew a sickle moon on my astronomy lunar calendar, for the planetary movement and then the moon's changing. I had a little smiley-face for Halloween, when the planets were perfectly aligned with a crescent-moon and it shimmered rainbow-tinted streaks with the coloured ink.

_She better hold him tight  
Give him all her love  
Look in those beautiful eyes  
And know she's lucky 'cause_

Max had suggested I do a border of swirling planets in gold glitter pen, with sparkles flying out to represent the Milky Way, and then a trim of tiny stars. It was a surprisingly good idea, too.

_He's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar  
The only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star  
He's the song in the car I keep singing  
Don't know why I do! _

I wondered if I should stick my gold calligraphy pen up Lavender's nose. I was shocked by the violent impulse. I wasn't an aggressive person, despite that last memorable occasion that I punched Malfoy in the face and called him an evil little cockroach …

Lavender was pretty, I thought, and piercing shards of ice stabbed at my heart. I wasn't. My hair was indescribably bushy like the brambles on a blackberry hedge, curling in light caramel-coloured curls, not delicately like Angel's perfect golden ringlets, but frizzy, like a Brillo pad. Even straightening and then glossing it with hairspray didn't work – it left coils of hair springing wildly, untamable.

_I'll bet she's beautiful  
That girl he talks about  
And she's got everything  
That I have to live without_

'You _are_ pretty, 'Mione,' Angel said with typical sweetness. I know she's not made of golden sunshine shimmering like her ringlets do, but she is so unpredictably gorgeous, it's almost unbelievable – even with the snag of the telepathy that might lessen her kindness. Angel giggled, reading my thoughts with mild curiosity. 'All you need is a _stylist_.' Like they were the magic words.

_So I drive home alone  
As I turn out the light  
I'll put his picture down  
And maybe get some sleep tonight_

'Like?' I said unimpressed by her imagination. Angel was not discouraged by my attitude, shaking her delicate glittering blonde tendrils expressively, and the perfection of her hair, so easily falling in a cute style, nearly made me scream. **Angel was two parts adorable angelic cherub, two parts unholy demon, and two parts something much scarier. **She still giggled, undeterred. Damn.

_'Cuz he's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar  
The only one who's got enough of me to break my heart  
He's the song in the car I keep singing  
Don't know why I do_

'Like shorter,' Angel said enthusiastically, 'imagine it caramel-coloured, but with dark glossy honey tints, washed in strawberry-scented shampoo and then styled into soft, soft curls, wavy but awesomely so. Like Keira Knightley's hair when it was short, but darker and curlier. And maybe some assistance from … Iggy.'

_Iggy?_ What for? I sighed. Hope vanished with Lavender Brown, but with Angel it was like the sparkling light of heaven was raining on me in all its golden beauty, and strawberry-scented shampoo. But with that new caramel-coloured hair and glossy honey tints Angel was promising excitedly, if looks could kill, Lavender was going to be ten feet under.

_He's the time taken up but there's never enough  
And he's all that I need to fall into  
He looks at me  
I fake a smile so he won't see … _

* * *

**Ron P.O.V:**

I was … hurt? Stunned? In love? Confused?

_Things are shaping up to be pretty odd  
Little deaths in musical beds  
So it seems I'm someone I've never met._

Eventually I thought I was confused. My emotions were mixed and unpredictable, unreadable feelings of hurt, shock, love and confusion, only confusion were highest of my emotions. It felt ... pretty odd. I looked at Lavender, who was tossing her hair that smelt beautifully like flowers … freesia? Lavender, like her name? Actually, it smelt like rosewater, so I settled on white roses, and then a musky scent that I interpreted as vanilla. I think. Hermione smelt like citrus and lilies. Sort of strange and exotic and colourful. Wait. _What?_

_You will only hear these elegant crimes  
Fall on your ears from criminal dimes  
They spill unfound from a pretty mouth._

I sighed. Hermione was giving Lavender glares in frequent intervals, sweetly faking innocent smiles whenever I glanced at her, 'till Angel distracted her with a shimmer of her irritatingly perfect golden curls, discussing girly crap. Hermione was so strangely harsh to Lav. Harry wasn't much better. He was as tense as an ice sculpture and annoyingly patient, like he was suppressing whacking her with his unnaturally, but nicely glossy broomstick whenever she interrupted in that sweet, endearing way she had.

_**Things have changed for me, and that's okay  
I feel the same, I'm on my way, and I say  
Things have changed for me, and that's okay.**_

Lavender was now combing out her plait, which crisscrossed in a fanning lattice of blonde layers, a French braid, I think it's supposed to be, embroidered with chunky pink ribbons. It looked pretty. Nicer than Hermione's but Hermione's colour hair was more unusual, caramel with light reddish-brown streaks in the sunlight. It made her look great – wait. _What?_

_I want to go where everyone goes  
I want to know what everyone knows  
I want to go where everyone feels the same._

_I never said I'd leave the city  
I never said I'd leave this town  
A falling out we won't tiptoe about. _

Max and Fang were having a snowball fight. It was hilarious. Fang would camouflage perfectly into the snow-tinted surroundings like a chameleon blending in a snowstorm, in colour with the silvery-white icicles and the pale blue sky. He would emerge dramatically like a multicolored shadow coming to life, to its naturally still darkness, and throw snowballs at her, then disappear. Max was throwing snowballs with uncannily accurate aim in the area, momentarily exposing blackness of his dark clothing whenever she hit properly. If only Hermione and I could be like them …

Because if Hermione's looks could kill, Lavender would be in the hospital.

_Things have changed for me, and that's okay  
I feel the same, I'm on my way, and I say  
Things have changed for me, and that's okay  
I feel the same, and I say. _

_* * *_

**A/N:** **Songs: (Harry) Politics in Space, by Kate Miller-Heidke. (Hermione) Teardrops on my Guitar, by Taylor Swift. (Ron) That Green Gentleman, by Panic at the Disco. PM me if you want to know what the songs represent. Also, you may've noticed the 'book' is now Twilight and Alice/Jasper for later reasons! XD. **

**Please review! **


	17. Paradise or Prison?

**A/N: Here is the real chap 16, which is really chapter 17! May be confusing but is very explanatory! **

**Max P.O.V:**

I'd always given thought to how I would die.

It would be beautiful and horrifying, in battle, but now _this_ was unimaginable, yet still as terrible and glorious as I'd pictured – only in a very different way. **I would live fast, die young and leave a beautiful corpse. **I'd had enough reason to picture my death before, but nothing compared to the destructible, unpredictable death like this.

It was … _frightening, _not the fade of my heartbeat, the shimmering white-gold glow of the light of heaven glittering on my eyelids, like I was dying in my sleep. I was hearing my panicked heartbeat instead, feeling the icy blood seeping in a terrified pace through my veins. The feeling just before you're going to die, and you know it.

I'd thought that dying in the place of someone I loved would be good. Noble, even. I would've killed myself a hundred times over for the flock. For _Fang_. Surely that would count for something, at the gates of Heaven. Or would I go to hell? I doubted it.

Hell was reserved for the whitecoats, the people who made Stalin and Hitler look like evil kindergarten teachers, and others as twisted and vicious as them. I'd been to church, St. Patrick's Cathedral. I had prayed to be a better leader, a better person. To be braver, stronger, smarter. To take care of the flock. To find some answers. Surely that counted.

Well, whatever. I'd never really believed in heaven and hell – as far as I was concerned, heaven was on earth in the meadow with the disconcertingly beautiful humans, and hell was Itex. I'd been both places. So maybe it didn't exist. But, here on my deathbed, I was going insane.

Because a werewolf was smiling in a surprisingly friendly way, as it sauntered forwards to kill me.

I awoke, my heartbeat pulsing at an frightening pace, beating like it had when I was dreamed that I was falling, flying with indescribable grace, off that cliff. I hadn't though I was dying in my sleep, but I nearly had. That was strangely unsatisfying.

Yet I still felt insane. I had disconcertingly beautiful people haunting my dreams, strangely elegant and oddly reassuring. The meadow was unconditionally dazzling, as shining as true heaven on earth, and my heartbeat had never felt that unnatural swoop of horror of the shimmering sunlight, the wildflowers, and the golden-eyed people.

Yet I dreamt that following night, not of the luminous child that glowed like a pearl, but of a mysteriously dark place. And wolves. Ironically, considering my issues with single wolves, much less a pack of sixteen. Not Erasers, strangely enough, with their silvery canine fangs and supermodel perfections; but russet, silky, huge wolves that seemed oddly more menacing.

I had felt fear stabbing at my heart, choking me with a fright I had not felt in so long. The fright had surprised me. Had I not learnt to never be surprised? And yet I had was. And the glittering statuesque beauties had not been there, like they'd promised. It seemed laughable, to rely on people who'd seemed _so_ real, and yet I knew they were only dreams.

After my heartbeat had eventually slowed to its irregular but natural pacing, I curled up on the window seat, head pressed on the opaque frosted glass, watching silvery droplets of melting ice trickling down the glossy panes. I looked at the Forbidden Forest. I was in darkness, the ivy canopies lit by the shimmery moonlight, shining on all the stalactites, transparent and glistening against the dark branches.

They said werewolves lived in the forest. The icy sheened leaves rustled, and I flinched, feeling the unnatural coldness of the frozen panes cooling my hot, sweaty hair. Definitely insane. Middle-aged by fourteen.

I could not understand why my dreams had altered so strangely, from something so gorgeous, to something so horrifying. I almost cursed myself for being so stupid, for finally trusting. I felt like screaming, though I didn't. I would be more careful from now on.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The Quidditch pitch was glazed with frost; sparkling with blue-white icicles that gleamed in the snow-tinted sunlight. It was pitch of spindly golden poles, encrusted with luminescent ice, and the sky was a pale bluish colour, with falling snowflakes. It would've been pretty, the perfect Winter Wonderland scene for the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, if nobody got frostbite.

I had been unnaturally twitchy and unnerved for hours; shuddering instinctively at the crunching snow, or the tinkling sound of broken glass, or icicle shards that smashed from the treetops in the grounds during a snowball fight, and when the igloo collapsed on Gazzy, leaving nothing but some chunks of lumpy snow like glistening squares of coconut ice, I nearly had a panic attack.

Admittedly, the icicles were my fault. Fang and I were having a snowball fight – he would camouflage, perfectly still as an ice sculpture, in the wintry scenery, blending in like the shining iced castle, and, in all his icy-silvery-white wonder (note sarcasm) become a dark shadow, pelting snowballs with unsurprisingly good aim. He'd then camouflage again, and I would fling snowballs in a vague area, leaving exposed black clothing whenever I hit accurately, and the blurred line of his blending, until he'd disappear. Of course, whenever I missed, the bluish-white icicles shards glistening would shatter, with the peculiar tinkling sound of glass, that didn't improve my concentration on being perfectly calm.

They were subtle nervous panic attacks though. I wasn't one to practise breathing, like I was listening to a meditation track on the glossy sunshine-yellow I-Pod of Nudge's. Actually, her Guns & Roses soundtrack was more soothing – nothing distractingly gooey, just the jagged rhythm of an electric beat.

Only Fang noticed. He noticed the soundtrack playing on the I-Pod, and my dislike for metallic music. He was drinking an grape-flavoured soda and drip of neon-purple soda split from the rim as he drank – his version of gagging in surprise, when he saw me shudder as I thought about the jagged canine fangs of the wolf. The resemblance between the Erasers, the creature that walked the darkness and was supposed to be my executioner that looked more like a supermodel than a murderer. Fang put his soda on the table, that shimmering bright purple drip spilling in a pool of violet liquid on the white tablecloth.

He mouthed, 'what?' at me, looking confused until I just shrugged, blasé innocence, yet he continued glancing at me suspiciously. We were walking to the Quidditch pitch, to half-heartedly support an uncharacteristically tense Harry, who had been so shockingly pressured, he had been figuratively inhaling black coffee at all hours. He had once calmed, but the tension had eventually built, diminishing his confidence, and now he was as pressured as ever.

Nudge was riding on her predictable high, scarily excited for the following match. Apparently Nudge was _very_ capable when it came to revenge. Her and Gryffindor house had risen to the challenge of making the castle Snape's personal purgatory. Snape was looking like he needed Prozac tablets, the anti-depressant, but he still remained snide, though his shield was shattering into fragile shards of crushed metal with the insistent revenges that Nudge was putting into action with surprisingly evil, yet still sweet vindication along with her new friends.

Hermione was still miserable. Her glaring in frequent intervals had subsided into malicious yet longing gazes, eyes glittering with silenced hurt, but then she'd continue inking in an intricate planet for her lunar calendar of planetary movement, or knitting hats with shimmery threads of rainbow-tie-dyed wool for elves, needles clicking dully. It hurt my heart to see her like that.

'Left hand box, second from the far end goal hoops,' Hermione suggested dimly, sounding dully unemotional and uninterested – she had a _Water-Dwelling Creatures of the Deep_ book placed with light-hearted irony (the giant squid was backstroking its turquoise speckled tentacles lazily under the ice-shined lake surface) in the gap of her slender waist and elbow. She gestured vaguely to shockingly pink sparkling tinsel adorning the spindly golden poles. 'Reserved with the forgein exchange students: it has the slanting view of the Gryffindor goal-scoring hoops and etcetera.'

I gazed at her in surprise. Etcetera? Hermione not finishing a sentence was like eating a cherry cheesecake shake at an ice-creamery in New York (Deluxe shakes with pink plastic bendy straws – Gazzy wanted a green straw, because green is a 'manly' colour, until I told him to drink from the freaking pink straw) and not eating the cherries. Pointless. Irritating. Unheard of. I felt like shaking her, screaming, 'who are you and what have you done to the real Hermione?' but I didn't. Practise makes perfect -

Suddenly, in the distance, a wolf howled.

Chills ran down my spine like frozen shards piercing my poised composure, then my heartbeat was a frantic pounding, a racing beat, chilled sweat trickling on my neck, that froze in tiny, glazed droplets. I kept walking, breathing rhythmically, as the howl, an everlasting and unbroken note, continued, scarily echoing. And then it cut off.

Yet I didn't think anyone else heard it. Nobody looked at the forest, their heartbeat unnoticeably accelerating in fright, chilled sweat glistening against the snowy atmosphere on their pale faces. Iggy and Gazzy were still discussing a jack-o'-lantern stink bomb that emitted poisonously orange smoke in an explosion like the sound of a smashed pumpkin and would send chunks flying amidst the Dung-bomb/Gazzy's-mushroom-toxin cloud scent.

Angel was distracting Hermione with hairstyles, something about a stylist-trimmed haircut of caramel curls and dark honey tints. And strawberry-scented soap. I thought dimly that Total was allergic to strawberries, like the time a French strawberry tart had made his tongue swell up like Violet's body did in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Total himself was ranting about Akila, followed by half-hearted shrugging and murmurs of absent-minded agreement from Nudge, who was fully absorbed with the prospect of a new wardrobe for Hermione. Fang was deathly silent, in step with Iggy and Gazzy, listening with dull interest.

'It's okay, Max,' Fang said with unnatural softness, like I was delicate, freaking breakable porcelain, 'I know you're scared (insert a swearword of your choice here)less, but it'll be okay. _I promise_.'

And I believed him.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

'Gryffindor leads, 40 to 10!'

'Major League Baseball is less exciting than Quidditch,' Total said, sniffing disdainfully. 'But no cheerleaders. Tsk.'

'I think it's _great_,' Gazzy said happily. In a quarter of an hour, it was three degrees colder. Snow that was not just from melted snowflakes, but softly crunching ice, was falling softly, silkily to the frozen-sheened pitch, and there was a new permafrost setting to the atmosphere, the constant shimmering icicles on the stands. The Quidditch teams were all shivering, crusted in snow and their lips paling blue, and yet they kept passing the Quaffle in flowing regular intervals to one another, trying to shoot goals with their numbed hands. It was pretty impressive, despite the technicalities, I thought lightly. And I was kind of glad about the absence of cheerleaders. Especially red-headed ones ...

Harry was circling the pitch for the Snitch, Malfoy lapping him anticlockwise, as a Gryffindor beaters tag-teamed the Chaser with the Quaffle, hitting the Bludgers at him from unnatural, yet perfectly rhythmical angles, the bats colliding with a metallic chinking, like a rally, 'till the Quaffle eventually fell, into the arms of a soaring Ginny, as a Bludger connected with his arm. Ginny and Demelza Robbins flew in harmony, weaving and dipping with smooth precision, and together, ducked and put it throw a goalhoop. 50-10.

Minutes later, Ginny soared like a ballet dancer into a graceful arch, dipping to take the falling Quaffle and then flinging it carefully backwards to Demelza, who soared like she was tied to glossy helium balloons and throw it in a swooping arc to Dean Thomas. He nimbly flew sideways and put it through another goalhoop. 60-10.

Then Harry and Malfoy went in a spiral to the earth, like bows from an arrow, arching into a dip like poetry in motion, diving after a golden shimmering ball with fluttery white wings … the Snitch. Harry's hand brushed on its glossy shine and then –

**WHAM!**

I felt hot metal brush on my face, the feeling of burning shrapnel, and the tinkling, sinisterly crushing of splintering bones.

Everything went black.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

'Max?'

A disconcertingly beautiful, yet tense, face looked at me. Sparkling ivory skin, glittering like it had embedded diamonds, mahogany curls falling to her waist in silky ringlets, worried golden eyes. Bella.

'Is she OK, Carlisle?' Bella's shimmering bell voice was impatient. Carlisle, the one with the pale blonde hair and the shadows illuminating his shining, pale face, looked concerned. He was wearing a doctor's coat, but he looked more like a model than a doctor.

'She's healing at an unnaturally rapid pace,' Carlisle said curiously, 'and her bruises are paling the colour of falling leaves in winter, greenish-yellow. Maybe an injection of antibiotic fluid. The burning shrapnel might've caused an infection.' Instinctive chills ran down my spine, even has he placed an strangely icy hand on my head.

'No injections, Carlisle,' Edward said mildly. I looked round. Alice and Jasper were gone, but a man with skin like russet satin glowing and silky feathery hair smiled, his dark eyes lighting up, brightening like sunshine. Renesmee was in his arms, bronze ringlets sparkling and her skin like a luminous pearl. She too, smiled dazzlingly.

'Jacob Black,' he said, taking my hand with his strangely hot one, and I wondered where Alice and Jasper were.

'I had a nightmare,' I said lightly. They looked at me curiously, unnaturally gorgeous faces twisting in perfect, glittering confusion.

'We thought the wolves would …' Then Edward sighed in dawning comprehension, irritableness marring his beautiful face. Everyone looked annoyed, and guilty, yet still pretty. Jacob looked mad, his hands trembling, but then was unexpectedly guilty-looking, too when Edward gave him a look. 'We didn't know about the Erasers. We were busy, and the wolves are our friends …'

'You're untouchable in your dreams, Max,' Edward said, his irresistible velvet voice perfectly serene, but under his unruffled composure, he sounded angry, '_always. _You may not know it. But you are. You should stay here.'

'_How_?' I said, anger sparkling unconditionally, 'how am I meant to save the world like the freaking Messiah that I am if I'm _asleep_?' The devastatingly beautiful people tensed, their shimmering skin glittering rainbows 'till it was blinding, and then ran, like graceful gazelles, footsteps that would've made a ballerina cry, into the forest with incredible speed. All but Edward and Bella. Edward looked stiff and awkward.

'Nearly two years ago,' Bella said, her ringing bell voice low, 'Edward left me.' I tensed – Edward looked at Bella like she was the shimmering falling star that flickered with love and beauty in his cloudless night: him leaving her was unimaginable. I could see the shadow that darkened his shining topaz eyes like a curtain had fallen.

"'_I would like to ask one favour, though, if that's not too much,' he said._

'_Anything,' I vowed, my voice faintly stronger._

'_Don't do anything reckless or stupid,' he ordered, no longer detached. 'Do you understand what I'm saying._

_I nodded helplessly._

'_And I'll make you a promise in return,' he said, 'I promise that this will be the last time you'll see me. I won't come back. I won't put you through anything like this again. You can go on with your life without any more interference from me. It will be as if I never existed.'"_

'I loved him so much,' Bella said, stroking Edward's strikingly beautiful face lovingly, but he looked pained – I'd never seen anyone love someone as much as Bella and Edward loved each other. 'And I still do. But when he left, I kept loving him. So, I broke my promises, but I wasn't suicidal. I fell off a motorbike. I jumped off a cliff.'

"_I knew this was the stupidest, most reckless thing I had done yet. The thought made me smile. The pain was easing, as if my body knew that Edward's voice was just seconds away. I smiled and raised my arms straight out, as if I was going to dive, lifting my face into the rain. But it was too ingrained from years of swimming at the public pool, feet first, first time. I leaned forwards, crouching to get more spring._

_And I flung myself off the cliff."_

'I knew I was acting vulnerable. So Edward would come back to me. Max, whenever you are hurt, like when you got hit with that Bludger today, or when you are vulnerable such as when you're sleeping, you can stay in your dreams. Like that sleeping potion that you drank helps you stay. And you come back to us. How are you meant to help people if you stay in your dreams? That's just it, Max. You're _not_. Sometimes, its better to be safe. Sometimes, it's better not to jump off that cliff. It's why you're here. Stay with us, and don't be afraid.'

"'_You love me,' I marvelled. The sense of conviction and rightness washed through me again. Though his eyes were still anxious, the crooked smile I loved best flashed across his face. 'Truly, I do.'_

_My heart inflated like it was going to crack right through my ribs. It filled my chest and blocked my throat so I could not speak."_

I supposed that made sense. 'What happened to your love story, Bella?'

Bella smiled a sparkling, dazzling smile. 'What do you think? It was truly a happy ending after all, Max.'

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

My eyelids fluttered like butterfly's wings. It was night. My ashy blonde hair was falling in light, weirdly silky waves, and a braid was brushing my face, hot pink beads on the tips. I felt the intricate plaiting. And then stroked my jaw. It hurt as I sat up, flexing. And then I saw Fang's PC, glossy and shining in the moonlight, swished in the lavender silk, as well musky parchment, golden letters etched on it.

_I know you need this. So use it._

_Fang_

I waited for the screen to download, and found a Yahoo! People Search pop-up on the hyperlinks to Fang's favourites list, and then opened a tab to Google search engine homepage. I was impatient.

In the Yahoo! People Search box, I brushed the keyboard to place "Carlisle Cullen" into the searching link. It downloaded and I found a website to Forks Hospital – staff members. There was a photo of Carlisle, in all his blonde, shimmery perfection, pale as the background, still looking more like a model. Carlisle Cullen, the page had a paragraph of text on him. He was twenty-three, and had been a doctor at the hospital in Forks for five years.

In the Google search engine, I typed in "Forks" in found that Forks was a naturally rainy town in Washington's Olympic Peninsula, a prettily quaint town glistening in emeralds, not perfectly arranged, but still endearingly sweet. Naturally rainy – the Cullen's couldn't glitter in a place where sunshine was rare.

Then I did a search on mythical creatures. I found an A-Z site, a page with a silvery spiralling border, roses embedded in the silver swirls and a glimmer of mermaids in the design, the delicate wings of a fairy, a wolf howling at a full moon. I scrolled down and clicked on the link I wanted.

_Vampires. _

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**Halloween:**

Halloween night came. The hall had entwining garlands of orange-dyed roses like a canopy, blossoming into a shining pumpkin that gave the light. Jack-o'-lanterns cast fanning orange shadows from their tea-candles and the tablecloths were intricately sewn with bats. We were eating dessert, apricot tarts and an elaborate cake with jelly spiders and fudge flies in the icing.

'I have a surprise for you all,' Dumbledore said, rising elegantly to his feet, 'a Christmas ball in celebration!'

There was a silence. Dumbledore looked tensely at us, faces unnaturally emotionless, and the perfect image of shock at this eccentric sentence – Angel was giggling, typically unaffected as she was by any stunned atmosphere. I knew that there was never usually any balls. Ever. It naturally clicked with Nudge. 'Yippee!' she shrieked, bursting with predictable excitement, and then everyone joined in.

'I would like you to meet,' Dumbledore eventually said, 'our ball-planners.'

Out of nowhere, appeared two people. Disconcerting beautiful people – one had honey-blonde hair, silvery crescent moons crisscrossing like a lattice, and then blossoming into fanning petals on his arms. The other was ethereal and delicate, her hair like an glossy halo around her exquisite, perfectly shining face. I just about stopped breathing.

'Alice Cullen and Jasper Hale.'

So they _did_ exist.

* * *

**A/N: Bet you didn't see THAT one coming! Mwa ha ha. And thank you to all my reviewers! Love you all. **


	18. Alice in Wonderland

**Alice in Wonderland: Max's Letters to Alice.**

**November 27th: **

**Dear Alice,**

There are no words to describe this.

**- Max.**

**Max P.O.V:**

I was unutterably mad at Alice Cullen. As if freaking dancing wasn't enough!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**November 28th: **

**Dear Max, **

On the contrary, there are many words to describe this. Story by story, as our worlds, so disembodied from one another, yet so devastatingly similar, intertwined.

**Love from Alice. **

**Alice P.O.V:**

I was unutterably protective of Maximum Ride. As if I didn't have enough to worry about!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**November 30th: **

**Dear Alice,**

My story? My story is like yours only my freaking happily ever after became a nightmare as each story was written. There is no 'The End' in my story, unlike your bloody perfect fairytale, the love story of you and Jasper and your family. My story began in a cage. A Kanine Kamper, size medium, from PetSmart. It ended with an angel experiment.

My story began with picking wild berries for strawberry shortcake. Iggy is a mean cook. It ended with my half-brother, splayed like a fallen eagle, the splintering, ice-cold crunching of a neck that fell twisted. The heartbreaking cry of his father. Have you ever heard those sounds? There is _nothing_ like it. Chills the bone marrow, in ways that are both different, yet strangely the same.

My story began with Fang: sliced like a tenderloin, nearly bleeding to death on a beach that stained the pale gold sand with crimson blood, scarlet in the light. It ended with a split soda can. My story began with chocolate-chip slice 'n' bake cookies, and Velcro straps on a metallic hospital bed that carries the hollowed corpses to the morgue. It ended with us flying off into the sunset. My story began with a funeral, putting two hothouse lilies on a coffin.

And then freedom, freedom that was unmercifully crushed by something that is meant to be a golden illusion, but is just, impossibly, my sanity running wild and an over-active imagination. Or a freaky pre-programming floating in my mind. That, Alice Cullen, is my story.

**- Max **

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**December 4th: **

**Dear Max, **

My story is called Twilight;

Do you know what twilight is? It's not quite daytime, but not quite night. The sunlight is on the horizon, and it's impossible to sparkle at sunset, because the light is dull. It's my favourite time of day. But also the saddest, in a way. In your dreams, you see us before twilight and after. But it's always near …

My story was not a freaking perfect fairytale in the beginning. My happily ever after was once darkness. My premonitions were a curse, apparently a ruined, blackened heart to match my blackened halo hair. I was in an insane asylum. I suppose we are insane together.

Nearly burnt upon a stake for my visions. I was in the darkness – I did not feel anything. Not even when I was Changed, never felt that "never-ending agony", the inescapable, white-hot flames in my body, nor the pain fading from my fingertips when I was a vampire. Only when I awoke, my eyes red, I felt something. I still don't know what, exactly.

As for coffins, I found my empty grave, that contains not body, (though it now would've be surely bones, or dust), just dirt. The gravestone of my death matches my admission to the asylum, ironically enough.

It ended with a happily ever after. I found my Jasper. I finally saw the light, not the inescapable darkness and I felt, indestructible as I was, hope. Jazz is all I ever wished for, once I could see again, and like I, he wished for me, too. It is the same with Rose & Emmett; Carlisle & Esme, and Bella & Edward. Mates for the rest of our existences. I have my eternally living, vampire family. That, Maximum Ride, is my story.

**Love from Alice. **

**December 5th: **

**Alice P.O.V:**

Max's story was not a happily ever after. It doubtless, would never be the perfect fairytale happily-ever-after every girl dreamed of … but Max was strangely … unique. Perhaps she wasn't meant to have a happily ever after. Never could say 'The End' on her story. I think, somehow, unconsciously, that was the way she wanted it. Of course, if there ever was a 'The End' for her, it wouldn't be _that _way …

**Jasper P.O.V:**

'You really trust her, Ali.'

Alice gave me a look, sweetness crossed with determination. My Alice acted ethereal and distracted, but her visions were always accurate, sometimes painstakingly accurate … perhaps her premonitions on Max were classified as one of the annoyingly precise ones. Similar to Bella's, only not so uncertain.

'I do,' Alice said, her shimmering wind-chime voice mild. 'I know Dumbledore wants it to be distractingly innocent, but to me he's wants to leave her helpless before the creatures of living hell, only it's supposed to keep her safe, but I think – I _see_ – differently. She can't handle this _alone_. I don't _want_ her to handle this alone. In fact, I can't.'

'You trust her enough to tell her secrets?'

'Enough to tell her secrets subtly, so her distracting innocence looks very witty, like she figured it out single-handedly. And you've read her story, Jazz. You feel her pain, her feelings of love, and strength, and courage. She needs to know mine.' Alice breathed in unnecessarily. 'She knows more than she thinks, Jazzy. I'm just … helping her along. Like I said, _subtly_.' Alice flashed a sparklingly wicked smile.

'You're telling her what it's like to be a vampire, Alice.'

'Just in case what I saw happens,' Alice said, flashing her glittering, wicked smile again, but I felt worry icing its way in her unbeating heart, and because it was _Alice's _emotions whipping into a nervous frenzy, I felt it harder, more painfully, myself. I am so attuned to Alice's emotions, it nearly hurts to feel her upset. 'She should _know_.'

'Oh, _Alice_,' I said, dawning comprehension flickering like a candle flame. Everything had fallen like shattering pieces of broken glass, spiky and painful, into place. A jigsaw puzzle that was cut wrong. No. No. No. NO!

'I know, Jazzy,' Alice said despairingly. 'I won't let the Volturi Change Max.'

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**December 12th: **

**Dear Alice, **

You're … right. Irritatingly right. Our worlds are devastatingly similar, if even they were like separate, disembodied hearts. Can you imagine that? Pulsing hearts. Just alike, though in individual bodies. What a strange comparison. And most unlike me. It's … actually … nice, to know you better. Nice in a weird, twisted way. Even if 'better' is something I don't really understand.

**- Max.**

**P.S: **Insane? Pssh. If I was insane, I would join a convent. That would mean abandoning the flock and becoming inexpressibly saintly, the prayers I've avoided, the one brilliant chapel I've been to multiplies and I have God to protect me. Maybe, just maybe, if I did become a nun, it would save the people I love. So maybe I'm not insane. I just care. Though I don't think the nuns would appreciate my hot-pink laced Converse boots …

**Max P.O.V: **

'Irritatingly perfect vampires,' I murmured. It was strange comparing her heart to mine. If her heart was still beating …

I wondered why I was expressing convents to Alice. Being a vampire, was she eternally damned? Could she ever step foot in a chapel, for it is hollowed ground, and she is 'cursed'? Also, how odd that I should need such reassurances. Hmm. Why was Alice bothering to care? Why was she telling me her nightmare-turned-fairytale-ending of finding the love of her life – well, existence – and having her red eyes somehow becoming like golden discs? I snarled.

And why was I mentioning my Converse boots to a vampire who couldn't _care less_ about fashion?

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**December 16th: **

**Dear Max,**

Unfortunately, my heart no longer beats. I am merely existing, disembodied and separate, but not like a pulsing heart … more like a ghost. Only solid. We are alike, though, but hopefully, for personal reasons, shall not become more alike anytime soon. Shall I explain 'better' for you?

Being a vampire is … unusual. There are many benefits. Inhuman beauty is not one, despite the natural envy some particularly low-self-esteemed humans think of. Rose, for example, likes being the most beautiful. She once, though, blamed her beauty for her vampirism. I suppose our speed and our strength, is a benefit. Eternal life is not so wonderful … never-ending teenaged perfection, never being able to age, look differently even getting a haircut. It stays one way, and one way only. Rosalie is very resentful …

We once all pitied ourselves, but our pity was diminished once we found our compassion, our love for one another, our determination, would quickly resolve all our hate for what we'd become. We all have a purpose …

**Love from Alice.**

**PS: **Even though Converse boots are so-hot-right-now, I think nuns would more likely appreciate red platform wedges. With straps. Glittery straps.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**December 20th: **

**Dear Alice,**

We all have a purpose? You must know mine. I've been going in never-ending circles that never seem to end. They criss-cross, they intertwine, then occasionally meet, an then they get cut off. It's very annoying.

You may be giving me subtle hints but would it kill you tell me outright? (Too late, I know, but still.) I've had lycanthropes tell me on the destruction of magical kind, dreams about vampires that glitter in sunlight instead of turning to ash, said vampires are now planning a Christmas Eve ball, gone to a wizarding school, been punched in the face with a one-tonne metallic bludger and Katie Bell's been poisoned. And yet everyone keeps denying the truth. WHY?

**- Max.**

**PS:** My sister, Nudge, says that Paris has some gorgeous shoe stores with the latest designer styles for the spring sale. It took us 30 minutes to fly from London to Paris, so with your unnatural speed, you could probably make the spring opening sale *rolls eyes*.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**December 21st:**

**Dear Max, **

_Patience, _young grasshopper.

**Love from Alice. **

**PS: **Tell Nudge I love her, and that she's upcoming fashion/shopping genius, and that I'll get her a spring design of some low heels. Low heels with spiks embedded in the soles, so she can still deliver jabbing kicks and still look amazing. (:

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**December 22nd: **

**Dear Alice,**

WTH. Grasshopper???

Will you tell me everything someday? My patience is everlasting, Alice, but not THAT thick.

**Love from Max.**

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**December 23rd:**

**Dear Max,**

Someday. I promise.

**Love from Alice. **

*** * * **

**A/N: OK, this chapter is a warm-up act to the following ball scene. It's Alice and Max trying to intertwine their worlds, while they still have a chance. If you're wondering why Max is writing to Alice, she's trying to ****understand why her life has suddenly roller-coasted, even more so than usual and discover ****the upcoming events that will surely have a great effect on the Harry Potter, Max Ride and Twilight characters! Note the conversation between Alice and Jasper, it is significant to the big fight scene that will happen. XD. **

**Please review!**


	19. 10,000 White Roses

**A/N: This is a very romantic (comedy) scene …**

**10,000 White Roses ~ Christmas Eve Ball: **

**Max P.O.V:**

'It's pretty, don't you think?'

Alice flitted to the pillar in a dancer's step; brandishing long silvery-ribbons like a ballerina streamer, and twirled it round. Jasper was on a pillar, fastening a bunch of balloons into the ribbons, twenty feet from the polished marble floor, clinging to the pillar like freaking Spiderman.

The flock had gawped at Jazz clambering up the smooth, glossy tiling effortlessly, but had taken it amazingly well, despite everything. They didn't know that Ali and Jasper were vampires, but they knew I liked them, and, bizarre and supernatural as they acted, they made it look like they saw gorgeous people climbing up pillars everyday.

'Pretty over-the-top,' I said mildly.

'You won't see the hall yet,' Alice said, ignoring me, and flashing a disconcertingly beautiful smile, and she clambered up the smooth pillar like a ballerina leaping, her fingertips barely brushing the surface. 'I want it to be a surprise.'

She kissed Jasper as she passed, his honey-blonde hair and her spiky dark halo contrasting perfectly. And then, with a single leap, Alice Cullen was hanging upside-down to the chandelier precariously, tying more colourful balloons to the cut-crystals that were like tear droplets …

_TOOOOOOT!_

_A noise like pierced the dull silence like broken glass. Being awoken early morning is like a nightmare, __but being awoken at daybreak is … torture. __I grabbed the lavender curtains frantically aside and saw Nudge, playing with an ... an - air horn! I felt like taking the air horn and crushing it to plastic-y shards with my hot-pink-laced Converse high-tops. _

'_I bought you clothes,' Nudge said, apparently sweetly. I didn't look – the clothes were going to be inexpressibly girly, put apparently pretty, like a skirt, maybe. _

'_I'd rather pyjama pants.'_

'_Oh, no you don't,' said a voice like tinkling wind chimes. My heartbeat pounded – only Alice Cullen could have a voice that breathtaking, and surely, she was standing, ethereal and glossy, in the doorway. Her hair was in gleaming curls, shockingly dark on her pale skin._

'_Alice,' I said, stiffening. I thought she rolled her shining gold-tinted eyes, but her face was irritatingly perfect, so it must've been a trick of the snowy sunlight. Alice smiled sunnily at me, her white teeth glinting even thought it was still dark. Her teeth were straight, all shining and none chipped – interestingly, her incisor teeth were not fangs. _

'_I need some finishing touches,' Alice said, her ringing wind-chime voice rising with the unbelievable excitement one perfectly toned voice could hold. 'And I want your help.' The shimmering rose to an edge that made it sound less like an ask and more like a demand. _

'_Um … sure.' I wasn't usually this … agreeable. It was her voice – strangely irresistible. Like I could listen to its heavenly chimes forever, it was like a drug, sleepy and off-putting and coaxing. _

_Alice smiled a brilliant, glittering smile. It was blinding. 'Angel's downstairs with the others,' Alice said, looking amazingly pixie-like. 'Wear pyjama pants if you want – ' she shuddered, almost imperceptibly, but it was there '- and be in the Entrance Hall soon.' She danced out, smiling. __Nudge threw me a pair of denim skinny-leg jeans, dark-tinted to a deep, midnight blue that was nearly black, and dark silver shirt. '_

_What the hell just happened?'_

The doorway was a bower of shimmery rainbow-tinted balloons and more pearly-silver ribbons, making an archway, like a banner, seemingly unable to pop by the way it held effortlessly in place, shiny and gleaming. Then the rest of the hall was more silvery streamers twined round and round the pillars, in swirls Alice wanted, more garlands of balloons and then multi-coloured glitter on the floor, embedded into the marble tiles.

Alice had wanted a silver-and-rainbow theme that was not carried through the ball, though it was difficult to tell, as the Great Hall was unseeable, obscured blindly by the doors, part of Alice's flawless planning. Some would've tried to look by now, if it weren't for Jasper, who stood at the doorway daily, looking especially menacing with the crescent-moon scars that were clear and prominent on his arms.

We were sprinkling more glitter on the floorboards. It was like a starburst of shimmery colours, sort of hypnotic and like a single, glittery eye that had a swirl for a pupil.

'Good day, Ms. Cullen.'

Alice fell from the chandelier like a broken crystal, only unlike a crystal, if it fell, she did not fall in clear-glass shards. Alice fell like … poetry in motion, slowly and elegantly, twisting upright halfway down, and then landing her feet like a cat.

I thought of me falling backwards off a branch, though it was probably nowhere near as graceful as Ali. Alice looked at Dumbledore, shining topaz eyes blissfully innocent. Jasper silently clambered down the pillar, and went to his wife's side scarily fast and light-footed. We could've just him around when we were breaking into Itex's medieval castle.

I wanted to scream. If Edward looked at Bella like she was his shining meteor in the cloudy night sky, then Jazz looked at Alice like she was the only light in a room of darkness. She was his hope; but the … way he looked at her. Did all vampires look like that at their soul mates? I didn't know if I thought it insanely weird or incredibly sweet.

'Or is it Mrs. Hale,' Dumbledore said with mild curiousity, sounding vaguely interested and yet vaguely _dis_interested.

'I don't mind either,' Alice said, her glossy eyes twinkling brightly, 'do you like the silver ribbon twirling round the pillars? Or should they be like streamers linking the pillars, kind of a starry ceiling?'

'They're perfect, Alice,' Dumbledore said with such stunning sincerity, it almost sounded fake, yet Alice looked so bright and brilliant, like she was going to break into a touchdown dance. Even Jasper, who has such interesting facial expressions (pain being the most prominent) looked pleased. 'One more thing …' He waved his wand, and the silver ribbons being twisting round the pillars, swirling most convincingly, like live snakes.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

'Alice, no! No, no, no, _NO_!'

'Max,' Alice said, her shimmering wind-chime voice dismissive. The clothes in her porcelain-skinned hand sparkled in the dull light, Alice stroking it lightly, adoringly. 'It's just a – '

'Ali, I _can't_ … it's too – too …'

Alice sighed. 'I knew you wouldn't want it,' she said, her topaz eyes becoming strangely glossy and glistening, like she would've been fake crying, but couldn't – but sadness was etched on her face that had make-up on the ever-wintry pale skin. 'I thought it would be perfect, for Fang – ' I think I spluttered insistently at that, '- and now you won't wear it …'

She put on Bambi eyes, that were more illuminating and hypnotic with the colouring, playing with the silvery, white-silk hem with a breathtaking, look of tragedy. Her face was grief-stricken.

'Fine! _Fine_! I'll wear the damn thing!' I grabbed at it, feeling the light, glossy brush of the silk that was so imminently perfect, yet annoying, while Alice kept the look of breathtaking tragedy mixed with fondness for the clothing, on her face. But as I turned, I thought I could see her smile wickedly.

'It's so … girly,' I said uncertainly. The dress Alice chose was immensely beautiful, yet so strange. It was made from silvery-white silk, and the skirt brushed my knees like the first touch of snow. The bodice was pale white lace, with silver ribbons for straps. It was so irritatingly girly.

'Do I have to wear these ballet flats?'

'Do you want the boots?' Nudge said dismissively, but then she blossomed, like a rose spreading its petals and coming to life, and weaved some starry white blossoms in the laces of my boots. 'Perfect.'

I sighed. Alice was curling my hair into corkscrew curls that fell, shockingly heavy in waves, on my shoulders, pinned with more of the starry white blossoms. Of course, _Alice _looked amazing. She was wearing a dress with a black bodice and shimmering silvery ribbon under the bustline, followed by a pearly-grey, swishy embroidered skirt and a black cardigan.

'Are you ready?'

'Pssh, no.'

'Good.'

* * *

**Fang P.O.V:**

'This shirt is … _itchy_.'

Jasper rolled his eyes. They were strangely gold-tinted, like amber coloured contacts. Jasper and Alice were scary. I knew Max saw them as amazingly, otherworldly beautiful, but I didn't. They were stunningly pale, _too _chalky, porcelain-white, with "purplish, bruise-like shadows under their eyes, like they were suffering from a sleepless night, or a recently broken nose. Except their noses were perfect, straight, angular". They were like black-and-white movie vampires; only their teeth were straight and glossy, no fangs.

Alice was like a ballerina, so delicate, by her doll-like, graceful limbs and her every movement was like dancing, weirdly enough. Jasper looked like he was in pain, by the way his face was expressionless and cold, but eyes were creased in the corners. He was also damn scary … animalistic and leonine, like he would crush Alice. I didn't think he would, though. He looked at her with glowing adoration, like he only ever had eyes for no one but her. Like when he saw her, he felt hope when he hadn't for … a century.

I had no idea why Max liked them so much. They drove me quietly insane.

'Win some, lose some,' Jasper said wryly, sounding cool and mild. He was talking about the shirt – which was dark-washed blue, nearly black but blue enough to pass as navy – but it sounded like he was talking about my thoughts.

Then Alice came down the staircase and weaved through the crowd so amazingly quickly, it was like she was dancing, to Jasper's side in seconds. I swear, I blinked, and she appeared quite literally out of nowhere. Jasper kissed her spiky hair. Today, I had seen her fall gracefully off a crystal chandelier, twenty-five foot high, without breaking anything and then landed on her feet so lightly, the tiles barely vibrating. Whatever they were, it was _not _human.

'Max is coming,' Alice said chirpily. Her wind-chime voice was tinkling, and like a musical note, except it never wavered in the perfect pitch. It was a nice enough voice, but I saw Total flinch almost imperceptibly at her shimmering tone, high and ringing, like it hurt his ears. 'If any of you laugh, I'll –' Alice's threat was cut short as she sighed, like a butterfly's breath. Max.

Her blonde hair was spangled with starry white flowers, in thick curls, and a white lace dress, kind of shimmery and floaty. Her wings were showing, but in the dim, silvery light they looked unusually fake, like they soft netting fairy wings little children have, only with whiter, larger feathers. The effect looked good, like she was some winged supermodel. Instead of heels, she wore her Converse high-tops, the starry white blossoms laced into the shoelaces. That was just so _Max_. She looked beautiful. She also looked kind of pissed off …

* * *

**Max P.O.V: **

Alice's ball was like a thorny rose explosion. White roses were entwined in a bowery lattices with silver ribbons, crisscrossing and fanning up pillars, like she took inspiration from Jasper's scars. The ceiling was canopies of silk netting, more roses, and shafts of snowflakes falling from the ceiling. There was white smoke on the dance floor, like the clouds of heaven, and neon lights in the shimmery atmosphere. In the corner, there were golden chairs and a Christmas tree, spun with sparkly tinsel, and coloured flashing fairy lights. It was beautiful and mysterious. Like Alice.

Jasper took Alice's hand to the dance floor, because no one else was dancing. They looked some intensely perfect together, Alice's shimmering embroidered dress matching Jasper's pearly-grey waistcoat exactly, the fairy lights dazzling on their skin. Alice stood still in the middle of the dance floor, distractingly doll-like in the white smoke, like she was an angel in heaven, albeit one of the avenging kind, like she was about to dispatch divine justice, as angels should.

Jasper sprang. A stunned breath rippled through the crowd, as Alice and Jasper danced at an immense pace, spinning in an elegant pattern to the tinkling, sinister music, spiralling and twisting like their feet barely touched the floor amidst the smoke. Luckily, it just looked like brilliant chorography, rather than stupefying acts of vampirism.

Then Alice was arched like a porcelain doll in Jasper's arms, like a fallen angel, so perfect it was frightening, especially as, with her lips parted, and eyes closed, completely motionless, she looked dead.

Jasper leaned forwards, lips brushing her neck, and he truly looked like a vampire, eyes suddenly blackened and hollowed. Alice's eyes shot open. She flew out of his arms, spinning faster than eyes could see, and she was on his back, arms wrapped around his neck. She kissed his throat, laughing a strange, tinkling laugh that matched the music.

There was a silence. Someone was clapping, and it broke into reluctant, somehow stunned, applause, until it was eventually enthusiastic. People half-heartedly joined the dance-floor, encouraged by Alice and Jasper, though a little disheartened by the act of dancing that meant their style would pale in comparison. People were dancing all together, as the musical styles wavered and changed as convincingly as a real disco, only somehow better …

The music was of all genres, albeit of the Muggle kind, hip-hop, rock, pop, indie, urban, metal, opera, country, electric and all styles that were combinations of those. The Muggle-borns were teaching people dances, as the backing soundtrack music to the old-fashioned, ever-popular Macarena, Nut-Bush, and the chicken dance came on.

The atmosphere was smoky, emotions running high. Halfway through, Jasper and Alice, letting surprisingly loose, put in electric musical instruments and sang, amidst screaming, 'Thks Fr Th Mmrs' by Fall Out Boy in intense harmony, Alice's soprano singing the higher notes, and Jasper singing the lower chorus, then together in the versus'. I had no idea Ali and Jazz could sing, but being the perfect vampires they were, they had to have _some_ musical talent. Everyone sang the last chorus together.

_One night and one more time  
Thanks for the memories  
Even though they weren't so great  
**He tastes like you only sweeter**_

_One night yeah one more time  
Thanks for the memories  
Thanks for the memories  
**See he tastes like you only sweeter …**_

Then Alice and Jasper were singing 'Your Guardian Angel' by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. Alice sounded beautiful, her wind-chime voice rising and falling in a soft, airy tone, Jasper playing alongside her, singing with her, emotion stronger in his voice than had ever been on his face. He never looked away from Alice.

_When I see your smile  
Tears run down my face I can't replace  
And now that I'm strong I have figured out  
How this world turns cold and it breaks through my soul  
And I know I'll find deep inside me I can be the one_

Couples were dancing, hands entwined together like they could never be split apart, their linked fingers never broken, swaying in time to the music. It was very endearing but very sickening. Fang looked at me, his face emotionless but his eyes gleamed momentarily and then dulled. He took my hands, twined like ivy leaves, onto the dance-floor.

_I will never let you fall (let you fall)  
I'll stand up with you forever  
I'll be there for you through it all (through it all)  
Even if saving you sends me to heaven._

**Harry P.O.V: **

People were dancing all around me. Hermione and Iggy were dancing, broken free from the dance-floor, near the Christmas tree spun with spangled tinsel. I think they were talking, as their lips brushed together lightly, quickly, barely noticeably, yet their mouths were clearly moving. Hermione's eyes were devastated, but face smoothed out, Iggy gazing at her but not in a particularly gooey way.

Ron and Lavender were in spindly, curled golden chairs, hands clasped with mild reluctance, and looking in opposite directions. Ron looked confused, and Lavender typically sulky. I turned, and ran into Ginny. She looked really pretty. Her dark red hair fell lightly from sparkling pins, spread out in waves on her shoulders to a black dress with a butterfly-cut hem and lace-up heels.

'Ginny,' I was shocked at Ginny's brown eyes that were startlingly filled with tears but it was clear she was stifling her crying determinedly. 'Are you OK?' Ginny never cries. She's amazingly strong, and doesn't cry easily, not even when things get tough.

'I'm. Fine,' Ginny said, blinking rapidly so the mascara heavily outlining her eyes was even more pronounced, 'damn mascara is supposed to be waterproof.' She was lying, but I decided to go with her notion, despite my better judgement.

'Right,' I said vaguely, gazing at the dance-floor, and saw Dean Thomas looked dangerous, but slightly regretful, as he strode aside some nervous-looking first-years and an irritated group of brooding seventh years, and snatched a chair a little way along from Ron. He was glaring daggers at Ginny's curls, but I got the feeling the look was directed at me.

'You know what?' Ginny said, sniffling suddenly. She smoothed her glossy curls and adjusted the sparkling pins so they glinted under the coloured lights. Rainbow patterns fell on her face, showing the tear tracks. 'I need to dance.' She grabbed my hand and dragged me to the floor; Dean Thomas giving us ice-cold looks the whole way.

_It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.  
Seasons are changing  
And waves are crashing  
And stars are falling all for us  
Days grow longer and nights grow shorter  
I can show you I'll be the one …_

* * *

**Max P.O.V:**

Dancing with Fang felt strange. It felt nice, though couldn't escape the imminent feeling that this was too unusual, too closely strung for my liking, especially with Alice looking wickedly gleeful, like a little girl who ate the last cookie, and Jasper looking at me weirdly, like he could tell that I was uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to push away. If Alice had premonitions, what could Jazz do?

_I will never let you fall (let you fall)  
I'll stand up with you forever  
I'll be there for you through it all (through it all)  
Even if saving you sends me to heaven. _

* * *

**Fang P.O.V: **

Dancing with Max felt strange. It felt nice, though I couldn't escape the feeling she was uncomfortable, that this was too unnatural and weird and somehow incestuous, to her. She was tensed, like she was ready to stomp on my foot with her boots if the situation proved necessary. I could see Nudge and Angel taking sneaky, though probably well-taken photos with a mobile camera, and prayed to the Lord that Max would not see. She smelt like freesias. And strawberries. An interesting combination, though I had to admit it was pretty creepy to notice the way her hair smelt.

* * *

**Alice P.O.V – I'm Betting on Alice. **

Max and Fang dancing together looked perfect. Max looked uneasy – my voice became softer as I saw a premonition - I saw that Max felt like this was too unusual for her liking, and Fang was becoming increasingly apprehensive as he picked up on her mood. They were going to split apart, and become awkward as the days continued. I didn't want that. I looked at my Jazz, and began singing with more poise and grace, in a loud, kick-ass style. Jasper looked momentarily confused, till he saw Max and Fang, the tense, uncomfortable way they were dancing. He began singing louder as well, strumming with more free-spirited determination. That's why I love about my Jasper. He knows me so well.

_Cuz you're my, you're my, my, my true love, my whole heart  
Please don't throw that away  
Cuz I'm here for you  
__**Please don't walk away and  
Please tell me you'll stay woah, stay woah …**_

* * *

**Max P.O.V: **

Ali and Jazz suddenly kicked it up a notch. They went from love-story happily-ever-after musical tones, to heartbreakingly determined, sweet rock music, the music becoming fiercer, stronger, more full of love. People were surprised, but instead of the half-hearted, slow dancing they were keeping, they danced with more fierceness, but the most beautiful fierceness than I'd ever seen. And I didn't feel uncomfortable anymore.

Fang took my hand, and lead me through a doorway of shimmering glass doors opened to a rose-garden, glinting pale in the moonlight that worked through the clouds, just past twilight - Alice's favourite time of day. It was decorated with stone garden benches, an apple tree blossoming crimson-red apples, and twinkling fairy-lights on the bushes that made a small clearing. The music floated through the doors, Alice's spiky hair barely visible among the swaying crowd.

_Use me as you will  
Pull my strings just for a thrill  
And I know I'll be okay  
Though my skies are turning grey. _

I was confused, but the confusion was dimmed in comparison to how Fang looked in the moonlight, not just a shadow for once, but an actual person that glowed silver. And then he leaned in and kissed me.

His lips brushed mine, inexplicably soft, and I felt as fragile, as breakable as Alice, the porcelain doll, looked, as the kiss was strangely light. Like a sunflower drawn to the light, I felt my arms, almost instinctively and unexpectedly twist round his neck, and the kiss became fiercer – in that single moment, all I felt was a fire in my heart. All I felt was Fang. His hands were entwined in my hair, brushing through the shockingly heavy blonde waves that fell, in long ringlets on my shoulders, yet I didn't care, though Ali would, no matter how nice it looked, flowing out inside of tucked in. Fang very gently disengaged himself, drawing backwards with a smile of satisfaction. He reached up to the apple tree, and took a shining crimson apple, cupped carefully in his moonbright hands - a twilight apple. 'Apple?'

**This is my brain: O**

**This is my brain after kissing Fang: ------beep------- **

**It's very sad. **

_I will **never** let you fall  
I'll stand up with you **forever**  
I'll be there for you through it all  
Even if saving you sends me to **heaven …** _

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

We came back to the hall, hand-in-hand, and I saw Alice and Jasper on the spindly golden chairs, Alice's face unnaturally expressionless, drawing blankly, rapidly, on a white napkin with a charcoal, until an image, drawn surprisingly well considering Alice didn't look all there, began taking place.

It looked like a girl, with black-and-white coloured ringlets, in a room full of mirrors, her reflection shown again and again, only with shadows behind the pillars looking scarily large. Alice was muttering, Jasper protectively at her side, as people danced on. She suddenly blinked, her attention refocusing to something strange that glittered behind her golden eyes, and not just because the fairy-lights were shining in her pupils. Her expression was terrified, and for a vampire to look that frightened, surely nothing good was going to happen, as I realized I had just witnessed one of Alice's visions. Fang didn't even look confused, but his hand tightened round mine.

'We've got to leave,' Alice said, smiling a dazzling, yet somehow unconvincing smile, and I felt newly instinctively worried, alert as she and Jazz exchanged knowing glances. 'Goodbye, Max.' She hugged me hard, and I smelt her musky, vanilla scent as her hair brushed my face, forever spiky but somehow soft, and as they began to dart, at that unusually face, breathless pace, I took her porcelain-wrist, ice-cold as always. Jasper stiffened, but did not pull her away.

'Thanks Ali,' I said quietly, 'for everything.' I watched as they slipped into the dancing crowd, and felt a terrible, sinking feeling like my heart had dropped into the pit of my stomach.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

**Christmas Eve: **

I awoke to find a parcel. It was a glinting silvery box with a garland of coloured ribbons and inside, amidst white-dusted tissue paper and glittering snowflakes from last night, there were a pair of red platform wedges. With glittery straps.

I saw a label crusted with the glittering snowflakes, buried in soft, white snow though it was still clearly bright gold parchment.

_With love always, Alice and Jasper. XXX. _

* * *

**A/N: I know this chapter is occasionally OOC, but I had to use some personality switching to match the scene. Mostly, I tried to make the characters resemble their usual selves, only with other characteristics thrown in. If you're wondering why I made Alice and Jasper dance like that, one of my favourite scenes in Eclipse is the part where Alice and Jasper play-fight, only for this particular chapter, I made their fight into a dance. And with them singing, ****I thought it would be cool for them to let loose a bit, and sing Fall Out Boy, which the line "he tastes like you, only sweeter" fits the mood for the other characters. **


	20. Truth or Dare?

**Truth or Dare?: **

**December 30****th****:**

**Max P.O.V:**

_TRUTH:_

I was in a ballet studio. Mirrors cast dusty golden sunlight in rays, illuminating faded posters of ballet performances from Broadway so they glowed pale yellow, pink, blue. The mirrors were placed like the shining facets of a glass crystal, so the ballerina was mirrored over and over, like a delicate, ever-replicated doll.

The ceiling had a chandelier, though a chandelier in a ballet studio looked imminent, subtle, mysterious like a Swan-Lake musical prop, its shards of crystal, not glass, but cut into dripping fragments looked like they could impale the delicate doll. A delicate doll that could fall, limbs twisting until they broke, so she could never dance again. Then I saw her. Renesmee.

Her bronze hair was falling in elegant curl, chocolate-milk tinted eyes showing glimmers of mirror and light, skin giving a luminous shine against her ivory-silk dress, the colour of sunlit snow. She was cross-legged, twirling a coil of ribbon, entwined on her fingers, like a vine's looping tendrils that could drape tight enough to kill ... maybe that was the possibility, to _kill_ ... 'Renesmee,' I breathed, reaching for her. My hands brushed an opaque wall … she was untouchable, protected by a shimmery, transparent force. I saw the ribbon in her hands begin to sever, held together by thin strands of thread ... And the scene shifted.

Edward was playing on a grand piano, tinkling, beautiful music emanating softly, like an angel playing a lullaby - it was strange, with higher musical notes criss-crossing into the music, like the tune Alice and Jasper had danced to. The room was pure white, nothing but a rose on the piano, a jolt of colour on the white landscape, being blood-red, half blossoming petals, like it was springtime, and the other half blackened with a rosy-tint that flickered on the underside. It was frightening, like being inside a white box. I screamed. My vision flickered, showing the scene for what it really was.

The room was still unusually white, but not intensely so. There was a wall of shimmering glass, with an indigo hue, probably a light blue if the room was darker, that made a window-space for a porch with hydrangea blossoms, the petals falling off, but still rippling in the slight breeze. There was a river weaving through cedar trees, twisting like a dark blue ribbon, a slash of water. The white was from marble, ocean-washed driftwood, white-flecked tiling, leather, and a carpet of that were shaded in varying whites, antique, eggshell, pearl, blended together. I looked closer.

Bella was beside Edward, inking intricate musical notes on a sheet of paper, her mahogany hair, with a reddish tint, was brushing her face in fallen waves. Emmett was playing on DS, his eyes alight and gleaming, a Super Mario Kart Korean instructions packaging on the floor, in a careless aside.

Esme and Carlisle's hands were entwined tightly, Carlisle holding her tight, his lips pressed in her hair. It sounded like he was murmuring to her, incredibly softly; hidden by her caramel-coloured hair ... or maybe it was just a discussion, disguised as affection? Rose and Jacob were playing with Renesmee, the only ribbons were the ones twisted intricately in her hair, like a Juliet-style bun, made from plaits and delicate coils of hair, and I breathed in silently, only smiling at Rose's undisguised disgusted expression at the unavoidable scent of wet-dog that was uncomfortably familiar, coming from Jake. Where was Alice?

I saw her ... and gasped. Oh no, oh no, oh no ... not again.

Alice was at a table made of sparkling white-tinted glass. She was sketching blindly, rapidly with charcoal again, her gold-glinting eyes faraway, drawing in such fierce strokes it looked like the charcoal would snap. Jasper's hand was clasped around hers, as the dark-brown stick jerked unnaturally, like a little kid with wax crayons, scribbling madly, too-enthusiastically. Her eyes were not as enthusiastic. They were not the intense golden colour but blackened with a slight hint of topaz shimmer, with purplish, bruise-like shadows smudged under them. She looked as ethereal as always, though unearthly, somehow, distracted.

'Mirrors ...' Alice's voice was emotionless, 'a room full of mirrors ...' Mirrors?

She was surrounded by coloured poster paints, a box of dark and pastel chalks, a palette of rainbow watercolour paints, fine-liners, and graphite pencils, all looking unusually watery, smudged and blunted, imperfections, their colours crushed and sunken. On the floor were ripped fragments of paper, instinctively aside, some coloured, some black-and-white, strangely alike, shown mirrored in fallen crystal shards, from a twisting balcony, through a window light.

'Ali!' I tried to go to her, but Carlisle porcelain hand was aside, fingers instinctivly tight on my arm, and like porcelain, it was as frozen as a breakable China vase - his inflexible hand was numbing, like novocaine gel, and unpleasantly so. I knew Carlisle was a doctor ... he was compassionate, as compassionate as vampires could be. But now he just looked tired and stressed ... could vampires get headaches?

'Alice is ... distracted ... she needs silence.' There was a pause in the angel's lullaby, a musical bar unfinished. It was immensely silent for a few pounding heartbeats ... too silent, what I imagined a cemetery was like, nothing but lilies on gravestones, rippling, peaceful breeze and dead people.

'Yes!' Emmett crowed suddenly, 'I'm kicking butt at Mario Kart! Pearl just got _pwned!_' I laughed at Emmett's undisguised triumph. Alice's faraway gaze wavered, her ethereal, distracted poise fading, and the charcoal, jerking but elegant, skittered off the paper.

'Alice? Ali?' I whirled, 'what's _happening_?' Alice's eyes, the gold shimmery colour darkening, looked at me, hollowed and unearthly, unseeing ... like a vampire. Immediately, Alice ran out, still in a careless, graceful lope, like a gazelle, flitting out the tinted window. She coiled her elfin, doll-like figure elegantly, springing, Jasper following her with a striking run. 'Whaat?' I felt kind of like I had at the International House of Pancakes, when Gazzy tried to order chopped bananas, strawberries 'n' cream, maple syrup, honey, icing sugar and chocolate sauce on his stack of pancakes all at once. Confused and unnerved and pissed off. Now confusion was the most domiant emotion.

'She's thirsty,' Carlisle said, albeit unusually tightly, 'and your bloods scent is … appealing.' Esme smiled grimly.

'_Oh_,' I said curiously, slightly abashed. '_Why_, though? She's never said how her premonitions are ... she shouldn't be - '

'Alice's visions aren't set in stone,' Edward said, 'the premonitions are seen whilst they are happening; not haphazard events that aren't even considered. They're usually selective, once the decision is altered, even slightly, the future is set off-course.'

'Like website programming,' I said, thinking of that last memorable occassion of trying to make a new 'Support the Flock' website. 'When you move a document to a new folder after the finished product, and then it gets messed up online.' Edward looked surprised at this resembalance, but nodded convincingly.

'Exactly like that. Her premonitions are instinctive - she can force them, but the visions come impulsively, they're uncontrollable, but manageable. Now she's trying to manipulate them, so they come frequently and unnaturally in intervals, but the premonitions, being wild and irrepressible, are messing with her mind. It is not indestructible. She refuses to hunt. Vampires are ruled by our natural instinct for the aroma, the waking of our prey - it distracts our mind, we become unfocused as we are controlled by the scent of animal blood. She fears the visions - the important one -will come while her mind is sufficiently distracted.'

'Alice won't tell us what's happening. But being able to read minds - ' I wondered why mind readers were so inexplicably common - there was even an art of mind-reading in witchcraft; Occulmency. What if there was someone able to see memories, every thought your mind has ever had? '- I can see her visions. Forever the premonitions are of a ballet studio.'

And Renesmee,' I said softly, 'always Renesmee.'

All the vampires became startlingly motionless. 'How - how did you know _that_?' Edward said in immense shock.

'I saw her,' I said quietly. 'Speaking of which, how _did_ I know that?' I was still incredibly confused. These vampires were going to drive me to the nuthouse if I wasn't careful. I saw Edward smile, momentarily amused, at my thoughts. At least, somehow, somewhere, I could still make one person grin.

'Her name is Zafrina,' Edward said, now horrified, 'she's an illusionist. An illusion bond, like a thin ribbon of thread, entwines our minds - a connection of dreams, memories and reality. It allows us to act as we would but in a dream-like, alter-reality way. Alice and Jasper's illusionist link has been severed, for the illusions are immensely real. She really was seeing premonitions when Zafrina tied the illusionist bonds in our minds, but they were broken once Alice made the choice to leave.'

'She must've put an illusion bond on Alice's visions, and interlaced it with my dreams. That's impressively sneaky.' Edward looked frustrated.

'It is,' Edward murmured, 'so, Alice can see vampires best, because she is one. She sees humans well, because she was one. You're more complex - there's a natural protective instinct in your mind, like the defence mechanism werewolves, or shape-shifters are born with. Maybe because they phase in and out of the norm, from human to wolf, but with you maybe it's the wings that are so unnatural to humankind. But she manages it. But Nessie - well - Renesmee is a vampire-human. Alice has never encountered a half-human and Renesmee's future is unseeable ... it's obscured, blurred like its hidden behind a blindfold. Until now.'

'It's giving her extreme migraines,' Jacob said huskily, 'and the bloodsuck - Alice can't take aspirin. So I'm her Panadol tablet.'

'Congrats, mongrel,' Rosalie said inattentively, offended by the 'bloodsucker' part.

'Shut _up_, Blondie,' Jacob said.

'Aunt Rose, Jake, enough,' Renesmee said, demanding sweetly. It was amazing how Nessie could wrap the world around her little finger and put it in her pocket for later. She had the doe-eyed-Bambi-watching-her-mother-get-shot-and-strapped-to-the-hood-of-a-car look down to a fine art.

Nessie slipped her hand in mine._ I saw the Cullen's and Hales walking into a cafeteria, all looking disconcertingly beautiful, elegant and distracted, ethereal somehow, otherworldly compared to the other people's careless eccentric-and-worn look. 'Who are they?' It was Bella, inevitably not as beautiful, her hair mahogany curls, red-tinted as always, though not as shining._

_'They're, um, Dr. and Mrs. Cullen's foster kids. They moved down here from Alaska, like, a few years ago. They kinda keep to themselves. They're all together, like TOGETHER together. Uh, the blonde girl, that's Rosalie, and the big dark-haired guy, Emmett, they're like a_ thing._ The little dark-haired girl is Alice. She's REALLY weird, and, um, she's with Jasper, the blonde one who looks like he's in pain.'_

_'Whose he?' Bella was gazing at Edward and all his bronzed-disarray brilliance._

_'That's Edward Cullen,' the girl said, her curiousity fading, and sounding perfectly careless, though her tone was halting and dismissive, 'he's totally gorgeous of course, but he doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good enough for him ...'_

'What was _that_?'

'That,' Edward said in a kind of vague astonishment. 'Was Nessie's gift. Some vampires have gifts bestowed upon them once they are bitten, that manifests in strange and mysterious ways. Some are merely enhanced talents from their human lives: Rosalie's beauty, Emmett's strength, Carlisle's compassion, Esme's ability to love passionately. Some are supernatural, gifts beyond the usual.'

'And Nessie shares memories?' I said curiously.

'Max!' It was Alice, her eyes now a glittering gold, like chips of topaz gemstones, brighter than any other eyes. She embraced me tightly ... she still had the fragrance of sweet-smelling flowers but it was mixed in with a tangy, salty scent of blood. Interesting smell, but not very pleasant.

'Hi, Alice – '

'- Could I take Max outside?' Alice said sweetly. She took me outside to the porch, surrounded by the hydrangea blossoms, and the falling, rippling petals from the breeze, the chilly breeze that made the twining river look like an icy slash of water. She looked so delicate, so breakable. But Alice's skin was like a diamond and diamonds couldn't be crushed like porcelain dolls. Her eyes were still the shining, moon-bright gold, but the shadows were dark.

'What's happening, Alice?'

'It's them, Max,' Alice's wind-chime voice shimmered, wavered, 'them. The Volturi. Voldemort. And Itex.' I felt faint. Jasper had told me about the Volturi - the eternally living, everlastingly damned royal vampire family, who kept the secrecy of bloodsuckers - and the term bloodsucker was not used lightly (apparently they really did drink human blood) with the gifts belonging to their army. I imagined them like Itex, only with maligant burning gifts rather than meatheaded Erasers. And Voldemort. Plain and simple, he was clearly psychotic. I'd heard the stories, seen the way people shuddered at his name. He was single-handedly pure evil, unforgiving, and only passionate when it came to his own uncontrolling, unstoppable, bloodlusting ends.

'And they're coming for ... us?'

'You, Renesmee and Harry Potter,' Alice said flatly, 'ghost stories never have a happily ever after – who says this one is any different?

Ghost stories ...?

_I know a story, of the devil incarcerate, that spills the blood of all the supernatural creatures, of all the mutant hybrids until that hell's demon finds the Chosen One of that species, the immortal god that leads the supernatural out of the darkness, into the new world, of freedom, peace, sincerity, equality – and kills that immortal._

_The devil incarnate didn't believe in separating the light from the darkness. He wished to combine "light" – meaning the creatures that could walk in sunlight without becoming ash – with the "darkness", meaning the creatures that drink blood. He wished to create supernatural creatures, demonic in nature, damned from the holy places, more cursed than the vampires that cannot feel emotion, more cursed than the werewolves that turn into the thing they fear the most at every full moon. These creatures would drink the mixed blood of the immortal gods, and become dominating, controlling, nearly impossible to kill, pure evil.' _

_The demons' soul was split, and he too was immortal, his soul everlasting in their cases, but if he were to drink the blood of the eternal gods, he would be as indestructible as goblin armour. He would be on a genocide streak, torturing the innocent, walking amongst the mortal, unstoppable. Who could kill him if all the Chosen Ones were all dead?_ Dead. Dead. Dead. The word seemed to echo forever.

'Oh, my God,' I choked. Our blood. The blood on an immortal child. The blood of a magical child. The blood of an hybrid child.' Only Renesmee was immortal ... but surely enough, if Harry was to split his soul in everlasting cases and become one of the darkside, he would be immortal, unkillable even with old age. I - I had an expiry date which was ending any time soon. The light and the darkness. Renesmee could walk in sunligt without beoming ash, and she didn't giving the telltale sparkling, just a luminous shine. And she didn't rest in coffins in dungeons like the stories said, in full-out darkness. Or maybe the vampire legends counted? Harry was the Chosen One for wizarding kind. I was freaking Messiah born to save the world. A mutant. Created for a single-minded purpose. Oh, God ... I couldn't think straight ... couldn't speak ...

And dominating, controlling, impossible to kill creatures becoming like that from drinking our blood? Voldemort becoming more indestructible than he apparently already was indestructible? On our blood. I gagged.

'I know,' Alice said soothingly, 'The Volturi and Itex just wants you and Renesmee destroyed, but Voldemort is after bloodlust and initiation ... he's an uncontrollable.'

'Are they - together?'

'I assume so. I had a premonition of Voldemort and the Volturi ... he is fascinated by vampires that can walk in the sunlight without becoming ash, but cannot walk on hallowed ground because they are damned - well, we assume so, no-one's ever dare try - and he's only ever thought of pouring holy water down vampire throats and watch them die choking blood. Voldemort once cut out a vampire heart once and burnt it, but is amazed that these vampire are indestructible. The Volturi are fascinated by this immortal creature who has an everlasting soul in cases and whose name strikes fear in people's unsuspecting hearts ... they see him as a gift in disguise.'

'And Itex?' I wanted to let Iggy and Gazz drop a bomb on them that could cause an avalanche to stop this impending disaster if I thought it would help. God knows it wouldn't.

'Were destroyed,' Alice said softly, '_were_. Their scientific impulses see the supernatural as unnatural beings; to be experimented upon, but the fear that pierces their hearts, and their instincts see the dread hour upon them. Itex has their ... gifts but unlike the immortal creatures are ... _disposable._' I shivered. 'Only they don't know that,' Alice said brightly. 'They think if their allied with the supernatural, they are immune to death, poor sods. "Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck, doesn't make it one. And God help the unlucky bastard who wants to take bath with the duckie."' (**City of Bones**)

'Do - do you see us ... dead?' The word tasted like poison. I knew death was inevitable one day ... I wasn't afraid of it. But to think I would die alone, in agony, throat slit. That was too unbearable to even comprehend.

Alice's shimmering eyes dulled like a golden light being extinguished. 'Occasionally,' she said, her wind chime voice distractingly soft, uncertain, 'a pool of blood, a shadow with an angel blade, a figure lingering over a corpse like a doll whose joints have been twisted the wrong way until they broke, glittering teeth exposed. Dead but not quite dead. Like a vampire whose heart hasn't stopped beating.' I shivered at this image in my mind.

And the dream faded …

Awake, I felt something crinkly in my hand. A piece of paper. On it was a drawing in charcoal of a ballet studio, a room of dusty sunlight mirrors, fading ballet performance posters, and an intricate chandelier hanging in shimmering teardrop-shaped crystals. And a little girl, twining a long, glittering ribbon round her fingers like a twisting vine. Renesmee.

Printed underneath was one word.

_SOON. _

* * *

**A/N: This is part one of a 2-part chapter. The other half "DARE" is less OOC, I hope, and the chapter will be published shortly. **

**A/N/2: I want to take a moment to thank my lovely reviewers! You all really make my day! So thanks. XD **


	21. Pt 2: For hell hath no power

**A/N: To Kitty Bridgeta, thanks for all the support and help! And remember: The Realm of Awkwardness is a place where everyone goes around looking at their feet because everything is so awkward! :D **

**DARE: (March 12th) **

_**PT 2: For hell hath no power, except in the dark.**_

**Harry P.O.V:**

'Vampires?'

'Like that's not unusual at all, is it?' Max said dismissively.

'Oh, God, no!' I said sarcastically. 'Aren't vampires supposed to have crow-black hair and red-painted lips tipped with glistening fangs, and vanish in a puff of smoke in the sunlight?'

_'For hell hath no power_,' Hermione said softly, '_except in the dark_.'

Max gave a smile that was a glittering as her silver-tipped nails. They sparkled like metallic paint but not in a very pretty kind of way. Kind of like metal claws. She had told us about the vampires, how they were beautiful and fearless; how even petite, ethereal and china-doll breakable Alice could fall off a crystal-cut chandelier and land like a ballerina poised from a leap. 'You're scared of them,' she said, but there was no triumphant malice in her voice. She almost sounded like she pitied me. A little too much pity, unnervingly.

'Really,' Max insisted kindly, 'there's nothing to be afraid of.' Her eyes darkened. I sighed. 'Well, almost nothing,' she said softly, almost imperceptibly, so I wasn't entirely sure what she really said.

'I am not scared of them,' I said impassively. 'You say I'm going to die just because some clairvoyant bloodsucker had a vision of me lying dead in a pool of my own blood? Do you know that sounds crazy and someone should drag Alice off to the loony ward?' Max's eyes gave a flickering gleam. A frightening gleam, like I had gone too far. Probably. I had noticed that about Max - sometimes her eyes were too bright and sometimes it looked like she lived in a world were the sun hung like a burned cinder in a blackened sky. Like she lived in a world were life was like a candle flame and just as easy to snuff out.

Then I remember what Max's life was like. She had watched mutant's lives been extinguished just like the candle flames. Had those mutants been like the candle: too stumpy and full of melted wax so the flame could no longer burn? And I did not hate her for the gleam in her eyes. Well, not that much.

'No,' Max said, unusually fiercely. She obviously felt very passionately about these bloodsuckers – I had to convince her otherwise. I looked at my shoes to escape her eyes that were still gleaming as bright as gemstones under a fluorescent light. Mine were sneakers; Fang had drawn what looked like emo pentagrams on the tops that looked like it had been printed with the metallic ink Max's nails were silver-tipped with. The pentagrams were odd - sometimes I got the feeling Fang was trying to curse me with voodoo magic or whatever.

Max's were delicate and upscale, very unlike her, scarlet platform wedges with an ankle strap, pretty over-the-top and somehow glittery, like crushed butterfly wings, compared to her hot-pink laced high-tops. However, the heel looked like she could pack a hell of a kick with it. Maybe that was the point. 'Um, Harry?' I dragged my eyes from her shoes to meet her curious gaze. 'If it makes you feel better, Rosalie, Jasper and Carlisle have blonde hair.'

'That's not the point!' I said irritably. 'They might be beautiful but they're deadly! They should have burning crosses carved into their porcelain hands so they can either be blessed or be burned. They need a stake through their unbeating hearts ... three inches, maybe four … so they can go back to whichever hellish dimension they crawled out of - '

'For the Angel's sake,' Max said coldly, and I knew I'd gone too far. I wondered which angel. I'd had a dream last night; of angels falling from the sky, their pure-white wings bleeding. Burning crosses were etched into the palms of their hands and as they fell, they became humans, with metallic ink marks all over their skin, like the leftover scars of the flames. 'You can't just ward them off with a clove of garlic. You can't just pour holy water down their throats and watch them die coughing up a fountain of blood. Vampires aren't all coffins and turning into bats!' Max finished in frustration. 'What have I been _telling _you?'

'You said they were beautiful and - and bold,' I said quietly. 'But, Max, their beauty ... it's ... it's unnatural. Inhuman. Even for magical creatures, they're too weird. They're too chalky pale, too porcelain-white. They've got purplish ... bruise-like shadows under their eyes, like they're suffering from constant sleepless nights, or a recently broken nose. But their noses are a perfect and straight and angular – like if punched them, you'd break your hand. They're like black-and-white movie vampires only with no fangs.' I quoted Fang.

'Honestly, I keep expecting Dracula to pop up and say, "I vant to suck your blood."' Max rolled her eyes. 'You see things differently from other people. You see through a glass, but the glass is dark, and you can only see glimpses of shadows so the true image is opaque, obscured almost. It's like sugarcoating evil. But for me, the glass is clear. A clear, plain surface, no ripples, like a lake in calm weather. I see those bloodsuckers, those parasites, those _leeches_ for what they truly are.'

And it was true. Max is the sort of girl who wouldn't even wear a free pashmina scarf because if someone grabbed it, they could throttle you to death and/or break your neck.

'They're not _like _eighties black-and-white movie vampires,' Max said irritably, 'I may see things differently from other people, but your world is not all clear surfaces of lake - it's really made of fragile glass walls, and when somebody breaks those walls, the glass will cut you, and you will bleed and die in a pool of your own blood. And when you're lying there with shards sticking into your skin, and the lake is full of churning waves, you'll remember it was a _vampire _that warned you that that would happen.' Max stormed off.

'She's right, you know,' Hermione said gently.

* * *

**Max P.O.V: **

Harry was so irrational, I thought angrily. I had felt like kicking him with these wedge sandals. They were so unlike my hot pink laced Converse high tops that were striking and unforgettable - these were delicate and upscale enough to be modelled without someone tripping all down the catwalk. Like I would doubtless do, despite my bird-like grace. According to Nudge, they were Christian Louboutain wedges, only Alice had revamped them by fusing styles she liked together.

The flock had taken the thought of vampires well. Nudge had been chirpy - she had thought that there was no way Alice could tell the difference between antique white and corn-silk Grant Satin-peep-toe Jimmy Choo shoes in a glance without some kind of supernatural assistance. At this, I had rolled my eyes. It was just like saying Ron couldn't be that much of an ass without some kind of supernatural assistance – but yet he manages it perfectly on his own.

Iggy and the Gasman had asked about burning crosses etched into the palms of their hands and did they sleep in oak coffins or ash coffins or deluxe mahogany with purple satin lining?

'Burning crosses?' I hadn't though much of it at the time, but now I thought of Harry's idea of burning crosses to be carved into their porcelain hands, to be blessed out of the soulless stupor (not that he'd used those precise words) or to be burned out of their vampirism. It was like he'd guessed and told Ig and the Gasman. Like he'd given them a poisoned apple disguised as a toffee one. He is quite perceptive, when he wants to be.

'I found this in Harry's room,' Gazzy said brightly, 'he's been acting weird, so I thought I'd -' I was about to lay into him, when I saw the drawing. It was angels, falling and burning, their pure-white wings bleeding and burning crosses etched into their hands as they died. Some were now human, with feathers lying in blood, and metallic-inked patterns on their skin like scars from the flame. And in the middle was an angel with big wings and blood dripping from her mouth. I'd shuddered and taken it from him, shoved in my pocket. I hadn't thought about it, but when I'd said: 'for the Angel's sake?' had I been subconsciously referring to the bleeding angels? I took the drawing out now and had a long glance at it. I hadn't noticed, but the middle angel looked just like_ me_.

Angel had looked naturally undeterred - _she _wouldn't suggest driving a stake into their unbeating hearts - three inches, maybe four. She and Nudge had wanted to write 'I RUN WITH VAMPIRES' on the fluro-pink soles of my high-tops in sharpie instead. And Fang had just shrugged and gone back to etching a star-shaped pentagram on parchment in metallic ink, something that reminded me of darkness rituals rather than little symbols for protection and strength, like Fang said. Like he had put a pentagram of 'good fortune' on Harry's jacket, and then someone had spilt pumpkin juice all over his Astronomy chart. Sometimes I thought Fang didn't like Harry much.

I sighed. Fang and I had been unofficially dating. In California, "unofficially going-out" is like sharing a Deluxe Cherry Cheesecake Shake at a Cold Stone Creamery and then asking for ten different samples of ice-cream on mini-popsticks just to annoy the salespeople. Once we kept asking for the Clown-shaped, banana/chocolate-chip/mini-marshmallow ice-cream-in-a-waffle-cone when they didn't have any marshmallows.

In a castle, "unofficially going out" just means that Fang and I had split a grape-flavoured soda, which we've done when were just "foster brother-and-sister". Ginny and Harry were now dating - and it was all the birds and the bees for them. Ginny has a sweetly demanding way that makes everyone freaking perfect whenever she wants it - even if it is sharing a choc-malt shake, Ginny can make it look like the best date in the world. Maybe it's not her "if I'm going to do this, then I'm going to make it fun" charm, maybe it's just that Ginny appreciates everything.

I mean, I've heard of some girls that go to five-star beach resorts and come back saying the food was crap and the poolboys weren't up to their hotness standards or whatever. And some girls would just roll their eyes if Elvis came back from the grave and offered to make them all a fried pb and jelly sandwich. But Ginny just goes along in her own innocent way and everyone falls at her feet, whether she wants them to or not.

Last night Fang had asked me out. Officially. To a rock concert by the WEIRD SISTERS in The Three Broomsticks. I gave him the "I'll think about it" line, wishing we could just jump off the Astronomy Tower's windowsill and just when we were about to hit ground, our wings would catch us and take flight. And maybe take out a few Flyboys. That would be a date I could understand. So he gave me a flyer.

It had made me feel dizzy. The crowd seemed to possess a wild unearthliness even when they were drinking and dancing, with metallic gold, ice-white and silver hair that flew like banners, glowing in the dimness like their skin, that glittered with sweat and make-up. There was no way I could pull that off, even if I did write 'I RUN WITH VAMPIRES' _all over _my high-tops in sharpie. I would have to paint my lips blue and dye my hair scarlet, like flaming feathers sticking on my head in jaggedy layers just to halfway fit in. And like hell I was going to do that. Which kind of dyed metallic wannabe Goth did Fang take me for?

'Maximum Ride, I dare you to go to this concert,' Nudge had said, giving a glittering, wicked smile. I had felt the frantic pounding of my heart in my throat. The flock's games of "Truth, Dare, Double Dare, Hate, Kiss or Torture" can't just be set aside with an "_as if_ I'm going to do that" - hence the Double Dare of Most Chocolate-Chip Cookies Able to Fit in A Mouth In One Minute that could have been a world record (Gazzy managed fifteen cookies). I'd glared at her. Nudge smiled like the cat that'd got the cream. Those smiles are the worst.

'Hi Max,' The flock (sans Fang) were eating out of a tub of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate-Chip Cookie Dough ice-cream with a pink plastic spoons. We talked lightly for a while, I changed the subject of neon-blue hair extensions when it got too close to dying your hair metallic gold, after discussing imaginary ice-cream flavours (Chocolate Mint Passionfruit Cola) to things to write on my fluro-pink edged high-tops.

'I have a sharpie marker I borrowed from Hermione,' Nudge said brightly, 'apparently it's not all fine liner quills, wizards do carrying Magic Markers, even though their idea of graffiti is carving Pentagrams of Darkness into walls than using texta. That may've been Fang, though. You should talk to him about that, people are beginning to believe in haunted spirits floating around the castle to curse as all into the dungeons - or potions rooms. And sometimes not even pentagrams - like wittily scratching 'Crabbe was here' into the wall of the Charms corridor like Malfoy's idiotic friend did last week –'

Iggy placed a hand on her mouth, pianist's fingers with silver-white scars from fights, ones that were embedded like bright paint on his skin because they didn't heal fast enough. Ones from metal. Yet there was something about how he wore his scars, as if he were proud of them, in a strange way. Nudge tried to bite him, and he pulled away, laughing instinctively, teasingly, as her teeth, glinting in the dim light didn't sink into his flesh. Nudge ran off to the Tower and came back with a pale pink box.

'Is it doughnuts?' Gaz said hopefully.

'No, it is not a six-pack of Krispy Kreme doughnuts with pink frosting and sprinkles,' Nudge said impatiently, brushing her toffee-tinted curls that was falling down her back in a kind of caramel spill, held in place by a stripy headband. 'And besides, you know I prefer chocolate mud.' She popped open the lid, and the sweet, musky scent of silk and soap wafted out of the box in a starburst of hot-pink tissue paper and black material.

Nudge lay a black dress on the hearthrug, a jolt of blackness against the brightly-woven rug. It was unusually beautiful and not in the delicate kind of beautiful, but it was as pitch-black as midnight, with a knee-length tulle hoop skirt, and bright-yellow straps. Not too eccentric, or ivory and lace, but as glistening as crow-black feathers that reflected black shadows even in sunlight. My eyes widened. Nudge smiled - not her cat who'd got the cream smile, but a dazzling, satisfied smirk. She flicked the lid off a yellow sharpie, as sunshine-tinted as the straps and wrote, "I RUN WITH VAMPIRES' on the skirt.

* * *

**3 hours later ... **

The hall was eerie at night. The golden chandeliers were lit and it was bright, but that made outside look very dark. I was sitting cross-legged, in yellow engineer boots that were eccentric and a little worn, the colour shockingly bright in comparison to the black butterfly hem of my dress falling over the tops. I wore a black stretch cardigan to cover my wings and the glow of the chandellier made it illuminate the room in a mixture of shadow and light.

I had felt uneasy when people sauntered by with a kind of lazy perfection in faded jeans and someone was even sleepily wearing casual pink-fur ugg boots with the hem of their Tweety Bird pyjama pants tucked into them. They had given me strange glances, some looking tiredly amused at my yellow-and-black striped tights that reminded me of a bumblebee, and some slightly smirking with vindictive sweetness. I just smiled my glossy yellow lipsticked smile and plugged in my iPod Nano. Or maybe they were staring in a kind of awed confusion because Panic at the Disco's "I Write Sins, Not Tragedies" was going full blast from the loosely dangling earphones in an otherwise silent hall.

Until I wasn't alone.

A girl was wearing a white tunic dress with scarlet platform Mary Janes. Her blonde hair was intricately braided and fell down her back like a waterfall was woven with rainbow-tinted beads and tie-dyed feathers. Her lips were a glowing scarlet like the colour of a sunset on the horizon and she wore neon plastic bangles, the kind you can get from Diva.

And another girl looking like a mermaid in glittering turquoise seaweed that was really a dress of shimmery material with hanging shells. Her eyeshadow was turquoise and her lips were a deep-sea blue. I sighed and switched songs. "The Fear" by Lily Allen. There was a boy with the tips of his unnaturally pale golden hair, hanging in looping tendrils like when it grew too long, it fell carelessly like vines, dyed hot pink for the occasion, like something that's been painted pink when it was supposed to come out red. It looked like ruined spilled sunlight.

'Nice hair,' I said, unable to help myself. He grinned. And, funnily enough, his friends had poured neon-pink colouring in the 'Scarlet Rocker' bottle of dye. And then one of his Muggle-born friends had suggested he go on Funniest Home Videos and win a digital camera. They wandered past, laughing mockingly like it was the most hilarious thing they'd ever seen. The boy with the pink-tipped tendrils cheerfully flipped them off, and I couldn't help but laugh. He winked at me.

'My girlfriend will be impressed,' he said - he was good-looking in the lazy, carelessly pretty kind of way with bright blue eyes that were as sparkling as sapphires. But looks can be deceiving. He was in the shadows, so the gold light fell like a crescent moon and curved so his shining blue eyes were as dark as a river during a thunderstorm, and the gleam was ... feral, somehow.

'She'll think she's dating a daisy-picking dandy,' I said, lightly teasing. He cracked up. I must've imagined the feral gleaming: he was as nice as Sara Lee apple pie; and if he was evil, he wouldn't have gone out with pink-tipped tendrils at all.

'Probably,' he said, 'and so the Victoria Secret Angel lookalike fell in love with Riley the daisy-picking dandy.'

'I'm Max.' I said, smiling unassumingly. 'Oh - and don't forget that stranger things have happened,' I added wryly. He chuckled again. His girlfriend _was_ pretty - like a redheaded Rosalie not yet vampirised: she had hair like a setting sunset, an unusual, glowing amber-red, falling in soft waves and violet eyes with lashes that sweeped like butterfly wings. She was one of those perfect people inadvertedly makes the rest of us feel inadequate and plain - just like Rosalie. Only unlike Rose, she was extremely nice. All of the time.

She came dancing down the staircase and to a lilting and graceful halt. 'Hi!' she said, giving me a hug.'I'm Lily. I love your dress ... it's simply divine. Vintage-patterned from the tulle hoop ... 1600s classic, and a gothic edge. Very Kate Miller-Heidke. It's gorgeous. You and I are going to be great friends.' I blinked. Elle was very forward; like she was sweetly ordering we would be such good friends. Looked like a Rosalie, acted like an Alice. I liked it. It was natural - for her anyway.

'Riles, what is _up_ with your hair?' Lily said, looking insultingly surprised.

'It's the Armani spring collection,' I said unthinkingly, 'style buzzwords this season are "daisy-picking dandy" and "manly in my pink-tinted looks" for the ... erm ... Breast Cancer Foundation - Daniel is channeling the hot-pink shades because not only is it fashionally correct, but it shows his support.' Daniel kind of spluttered a bit, but I gave him a "shut up" look.

There was a long pause as Lily considered looking slightly bemused.

'"And a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet." Nice.' Lily looked at Riley in half-hearted amusement. 'Did those losers you call your best friends put pink hair colouring into your bottle of Crimson Guitarist dye or whatever?'

'Scarlet Rocker dye,' Riley corrected.

Lily, surprisingly, giggled. They left, but not before I gave Riley the sunshine-tinted sharpie marker and let him write "and so the Victoria Secret Angel fell in love with the daisy-picking dandy" on my canary-bright scribbled-on skirt. As they left, Lily ruffled his pink-tips adoringly. Good to know I can bring people together.

Hello Max,' Luna Lovegood said, sounding ethereal and distracted - she was like a flower drifting vaugely in the breeze. She radiated strangeness like some people radiate serenity. No-one could've been stranger than Luna. She was wearing a silvery dress, as silver-bright as the streaming moonlight, in gold star-spangles, so she looked just like the light of the chandelliers. Her hair was piled into a bun spilling dirty-blonde curls on top of her head, with a metallic gold ribbon holding the whole thing in place.

'Hey Luna,' I said. I silently put the volume up of "Hey Boys and Girls - Truth of the World Pt 2" by Evermore and hoped to block out her tinkling, wind-chime voice - it was not a soft chiming like Alice's, it was somehow piercing like the chinking of metal in wind. Or the sound of shimmering shards of stalactites about to fall with a sinister crashing of breaking ice after an avalanche. But Luna's voice is not the sort that can be covered by a loud chorus.

Hermione had said that Luna was eccentric. She believed Heliopaths - spirits of the fire, like flamed creatures that burnt everything in their path to cinder; Wrackspurts - transparent ghoul-like spirits that made things be forgotten easily: overall, she believed in anything as long as nobody proven it didn't exist.

'Are you waiting for Fang?' Luna said, her tinkling voice sounding like a piercing musical instrument that rings a sound of broken chimes and is supposed to be the harmony in an orchestra. She sat down beside me - looking exactly like a moon goddess when her dirty-blonde hair caught the silvery light and shot rays out like a stained-glass window. It was practically blinding. People that surrounded us gave her evil looks, the silver-gold light sparkling across their faces, kind of like the light of heaven, though I imagine the light of heaven doesn't hurt so much. 'I'm going to see if the Weird Sisters have joined the Gulping Plimpie Conspiracy.' OK, I'll bite, I thought tiresomely.

'What's in the bag?' I said curiously, and Luna's eyes gleamed bright. She had cat-eyes, not slitted pupils, but they were moonbright in the darkness, that shone amber, but usually looked sort of greeny-yellow. She had a purple-knit bag, with stitched gold shimmery sequins. In it was a opaque, silver-white bag that had luminiscent powder - its colour was indescribable.

It was like all the colours on a paint chart mixed together but instead of making a murky brown, in made a bright shade with threads that crossed its surface when the bag was shook. There was a musky crystal with runes carved into the gemstone in purple ink and on a black ribbon with a jinx inscribed on it in gold thread, written in Latin. And there was an emerald onion, that smelled like dead flowers with a hint of the spicy scent of onion.

'This powder makes zombies vanish in a puff of smoke,' Luna said, 'it's made of an opaque stardust and unicorn blood. Unicorn blood is pure, but it is monstorous to slay a creature of such purity and beauty - if you were to drink the blood, you would be given a half-life, a cursed like when the blood touches your lips. But the blood on stardust makes it holy and zombies are undead. They either vanish in smoke or they melt.' Like the Wicked Witch of the West, I thought sourly, bright green skin and all. 'It was given to Daddy by a zombie-hunter called Van Helsing.'

I decided not to mention that Van Helsing is a movie (by Hollywood who made vampires have crow-black hair and red lips that dripped with blood), and he was a vampire-slayer with a dart-gun, not a bag of mystical powder. I'd give her the benefit of the doubt. I could hear footsteps, light and silent footsteps that was like the paces of a night-stalker, followed by a dark shadow.

Fang.

* * *

**Harry P.O.V:**

'Now I feel guilty.' I glared at my reflection in the ornate mirror above the fireplace - it was opaque and had tarnished metal roses; but my reflection was just mussed pitch-black hair falling haphazardly and darkened green eyes, bright emerald where the light hit, set like huge gemstones in a pale, pinched face. On another person it would've looked carelessly perfect - in my face I looked Thing-From-The-Swamp scary.

'I thought you would,' Hermione said, not unkindly - but why did all girls sound like they felt sorry for me? She set aside Numerology and Grammatia II with a pitying smile, albeit slightly sympathetic but her eyes were dark and cold. 'It's your own fault, you know.'

'I shouldn't have said what I did say to her.' _"You see through a glass, but the glass is dark, and you can only see glimpses of shadows so the true image is opaque, obscured almost. It's like sugarcoating evil. But for me, the glass is clear. A clear, plain surface, no ripples, like a lake in calm weather. I see those bloodsuckers, those parasites, those _leeches_ for what they truly are."_ 'You could say I went below the belt.'

'There is a fine line between light sarcasm and outright hostality and you did cross it,' Hermione said unfeelingly, sounding impassive and even icier. She wound a toffee-tinted curl around her finger worriedly. 'You did tell her that she needed to drive a stake through their unbeating hearts, three inches, or maybe four to send them back to a hellish dimension they crawled out of.'

'I know,' I said ashamedly, 'but I found out not all vampires are soulless - not all of them need burning crosses etched in their hands so they vanish in a puff of smoke - if you could carve blessed signs of the cross into their palms at all. Some vampires can walk on hallowed ground because they're not exactly damned. There was a werewolf that was stalking a graveyard outside a church at midnight in a small town - at the chime of twelve it would rip out a person's throat. But a vampire killed the wolf, and the town is now like New Harmony.'

Hermione smiled.

'And there was a story of a beautiful island princess bleeding to death on shore after the warriors from another village tried to murder the isle's future goddess. Her heart had almost stopped beating because the warriors had put poison in her. But then a vampire who lived in the island's volcano smelt her blood, and sucked the poison out. And somehow, he didn't drink all her blood and the princess lived. So vampires aren't all soulless bloodsuckers.'

'Don't you owe Max an apology, then?' Hermione said reasonably.

'I think I do.'

* * *

**Max P.O.V: 1 hour later. **

It wasn't how I imagined. I'd guessed on the Weird Sisters possess wild unearthliness and their crazy looks - I'd forgotten to imagine the enchantments of it. The crowd was swaying, all shimmering with sweat and glitter under bewitched lighting: spangled, twining gold fairy-lights that, with the moonlight cast slanting rays of silver-gold light like a starburst through the skylight.

There was a golden tiny balcony, the kind with the sugarcone swirly railings on merry-go-round horses, draped and suspended by golden wires. Fang and I were sitting cross-legged on the swaying balcony, my eccentric and worn yellow engineer boots dangling through the sugar-cone, glittering bars.

'I should've worn my pyjama pants.'

'I like the dress,' Fang said, letting his sentance drift lazily. He was peeling a green apple from his picnic bag with an blade and it fell in curling strips - he carved it into a butterfly perched on the apple, its wings fluttering in a stilled position, like it was about to take flight. His lips quirked in smile.

'I don't. This is Alice in Wonderland perfection - or imperfection. It's like I'm in a freaking perfect Cinderella fairytale that gets messed-up. I got my Prince Charming in black. Nudge was my fairy godmother. Then Harry stole my glass slipper and my ball got bippidy boppidy boo'd into a rock concert with guys who think they can pull of skinny jeans and ended up looking like genetically-vacant Ken dolls!'

Fang bit into a chocolate chocolate-chip cookie. 'The way you regard us is insane. I think the castle is unhinging your sanity - you're not even fifteen and you're approaching your mid-life crisis. Hadn't you better see someone about this?'

'If you mean a shrink - ' But my voice was cut off by an immense cheering. Smoke was embedding the crowd in a silvery-white haze, the glimmering of the gold fairy-lights opaque and obscured by the fog. It looked like a scene from heaven, when the shadow figure of the Messiah passes through the smoke like a vision. And there were no dry-ice machines either.

There was a spotlight on the stage, making the crowd in darkness, and then the Weird Sisters began strumming a melody on their electric bewitched guitars. There was a smattering of applause, and the sound of an echoing, rockstar drumbeat. The crowd was swaying, enthusiastic - I swear I could see the shimmer of Luna Lovegood's dirty-blonde hair dancing in the crowd like a beacon. It was incredible, stunning, irreplaceable. Fang and I were enjoying ourselves.

The music was purely rock, intoxicating, eccentric beats that made your heart pound frantically with excitmenet and the hot rush of adreheline and blood fizz - people were singing dizzily in time to the music, cheering as the music paced itself to such a rate you wanted to scream and cry at the same time. In the intermission, Fang took my hand, and we sat on the swaying balcony, mindlessly, teasingingly, comfortably - just talking and sharing the last chocolate chocolate-chip cookie. And it was ... nice.

'So how is your freaking perfect Cinderella story going?'

I laughed. 'Well my magic carriage hasn't become a pumpkin yet so the chime of twelve hasn't ruined my imperfect happily-ever-after. And my yellow engineer boots are still in perfect condition - no breaking the heel off my glass slippers! I will not succumb to wearing rags.'

'Maybe you won't need to see that shrink.'

'I might still,' I said teasingly, sipping of lemon-and-lime soda, 'if this concert leaves me unhinged and the magic of the talking flowers and white rabbits with pocket watches comes along, I'm sure that falls into the 'approaching my mid-life crisis' category. I do bring up a lot of fantasy references, don't I? I bet it's all this bewitching crap that is straight off Sabrina the Teenaged Witch. I thought she rode a vaccum cleaner rather than a broomstick, but on the whole ... did you hear that whirring?'

* * *

**Harry P.O.V: 3 and a half hours later. **

'When will she be back?'

'After midnight,' Hermione said impatiently. She was brushing her toffee-tinted curls so they waved gently instead of frizzing like a 50s sweater girl perm - Hermione hated her corkscrew curls but she had been styling it so it looked like loose curls under a beanie, or in a bun spilling waves - once she had even done a French plait that left wavy chunks coming from the pleat.

I tried to be perceptive about these things - tried to be long-suffering peacemaker between to people who were either ignoring or being overly-polite to one-another. Sometimes it worked and we were like peas in a pod, inseperable and witty and charming. I got the feeling my perceptiveness was wearing off, slowly. I didn't notice much anymore - was I too self-absorbed? Or maybe I just worried too much on everything to notice anything.

I knew I was the Chosen One - the forsaken prophecy sphere had whipped my imagination into a frenzy, sending panic attacks through my system - it had summed up my bloody 'destiny' in a nutshell. I didn't always want to complete that destiny. And now Hermione was getting unnerved by my impatience. It reminded me of Dudley always saying "are we there yet?" on those miserable holiday car-trips to the middle of nowhere.

'I get the feeling something bad is going to happen,' Hermione said distractingly. 'Maybe it's just nothing.' I stared out the castle window. The night-sky seemed oddly disorientated - was the sky always that black? It was soon going to chime midnight and the sky was pitch-black, unusually starless, just a black void of endless night sky, and the moon was full, but it's glow was dimmed. It was obscurded by something, a moving chunk that blended in with the dark sky. It looked kind of metallic and I could hear a faint whirling -

A familar whirling. Too familiar.

'Hermione!' There was a sound of shattering glass, and shards of it smashed into powder. There was a metallic breaking, like fingernails raking down a blackboard and burnished silver at all the collapsed windows with bits of glass sticking into the panes. Hermione leapt to her feet, brandishing her wand like a sword. Surely someone would hear - there was red blinking lights like ominous glowing eyes as Flyboys swarmed through the windows like bees. So many, too many -

Hermione was lying on the floor, her limbs distorted in awkward angles with shards of broken glass in her skin, piercing fragments leaving blossoming ribbons of blood - her eyes were closed and the scarlet liquid was pouring around her. Already. There was a bruise on her forehead. She had taken out several Flyboys and then one had punched her so hard she had blacked out. _And when you are lying in a pool of your own blood - you'll remember it was a vampire who told you it would happen. _I shot a fire-burning curse at a Flyboy - steam was billowing from its neck, with the sound of cricking, melting wires and its neck joint separated from its metallic fibre-optic cables. They seemed stronger, there was so, so many. A Flyboy loomed up behind me and smashed something heavy into the back of my head.

A man stood in front of a Flyboy - white-blonde hair spilling like ruined sunlight and icy grey eyes, emotionless and impassive and had a flicker of a dangerous edge. 'Harry Potter.' I felt my vision blacken hazedly, but I outstared him with the small breath I had before I was rendered unconcious.

'_Malfoy_.'

* * *

**Max P.O.V: Half an hour later. **

The concert was brilliance. It was beautiful and dangerous and everyone loved it. My yellow engineer boots were even more eccentric and worn as I weaved through the crowd - there was now glitter on the edges, adding a touch of - not elegance - but made the black seemed darker against the shimmering. Someone had stuck a wreath of streamers in my hair in a kind of summery halo.

We flew back to the castle, Fang's wings only flickering rays of purple tinting whenever he flew silently past the glimmering silvery moon that was emitting slanting light over the village, making it seem not quite as dark. My wings' lighter feathers were the only whiteness in the pitch-coloured night sky. We split the last grape-flavoured soda in mid-air - finally, the date I could get my head around. It was perfect. We went to the Gryffindor Tower and -

It was a mess. Broken fragments of glass was smashed into powder - the windows were all of shattered glass and there was a shard of metallic grit. There was blood on the shards, shockingly red against the opaque glass. People were crowding the room, I saw someone pulling a fragment of glass out of their hand with a blossoming ribbon of blood pouring out onto their jeans. It was very late - the towering grandfather clock was tipped on its side, the golden pendulum snapped in half with a broken chiming sound as the clock struck twelve.

'Max! Fang!' It was Hermione - there was a purplish-yellow bruise blossoming on her and her body's limbs were unsteady, like they had been distorted at unnatural angles, twisted like a doll's joints. She was smeared with dried blood as she stepped gingerly over the wreckage.

'Hermione! What _happened_?'

'Flyboys,' she choked out, 'but it's - it's Harry. He's - he's ... _gone_.'

_For hell hath no power. Except in the dark._

* * *


	22. Where Trust Is Found

**Where Trust Is Found: **

**March 13th:**

**_Previously on Birds Fly Higher Than Broomsticks:_**

_'Max! Fang!' It was Hermione - there was a purplish-yellow bruise blossoming on her and her body's limbs were unsteady, like they had been distorted at unnatural angles, twisted like a doll's joints. She was smeared with dried blood as she stepped gingerly over the wreckage._

_'Hermione! What happened?'_

_'Flyboys,' she choked out, 'but it's - it's Harry. He's - he's ... _gone_.' _

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Harry P.O.V:**

I woke up in the dark. I was dimly aware that I was surrounded by shards of fallen glass, blood spilling where it had pierced me. There was a jagged fragment sticking into my palm, and I wrenched it out as it smashed into powder on the floor. I was lying with my limbs splayed, in a room that looked beautiful but scary, like it had once been pretty but time had taken its beauty away.

It was odd ... it seemed familiar, like I had heard about it in a fairy-tale, or maybe it had just been some figment of my imagination that had magically come true. It was an attic, lit by a golden candelabra's melted candles flickering unusually bright, glossy flames reflecting on the white gold tiles. There was spider webs clinging in threads from the metal, and smoldering dust.

I could hear a sound, something emitting a tinkling, sinister tune like a broken musical box whose wind-up figurine still spins though the box is long ruined and the ballerina-type tune is now creaky. A musical box? My mind frantically tried to process this, working out what a musical box was doing in the middle of a prison, and in a world where musical boxes were usually cursed with a sleeping jinx - my mind eventually settling on a two words: oh, _crap_.

The attic I was in was the perfect image of Max's twisted imagination, the ghost story of the house where something unknown killed whoever ventured into it to find the prize that would make them the most beautiful person in the world. Max had said the tinkling sinister tune of the "prize" was soft, like a lullaby, with an underlying current of creepiness. The noise I was hearing matched that exactly. I felt something in my stomach - nerves? An omnious feeling, no doubt. Hmmm ... there was something more to her story. My mind whirred again - it felt strangely numbed, a sensation that was unpleasant and made me feel extremely stupid.

_"Ella finally found a tiny musical box, shining, glowing gold, like it was illuminated from the embedded jewels – from it was a chiming, bell-like sound, punctured with a thumping, the thumping of a beating heart. Ella slowly wound the musical chime, and the lid creaked open …" _

I _had_ to get out of this attic.

I tried to stand up, only to go sprawling. My legs weren't broken, but they were numb from all the glassy shards that had pierced my skin and all the blossoming of blood that had dried in scarlet blotches everywhere. Door, door, where was the door? I fumbled in my jacket for my wand, the only object that could save me from dying in a pool of my own blood as Alice had predicted. How would I die in a pool of my blood? Maybe they'd slash my throat. Drive a knife through my pounding heart that would know death was only seconds away. Surely death would come slowly ... and it would hurt ... I came up empty.

My pockets held nothing and my breath caught in my throat. Had I dropped it? No, they'd taken it and snapped it, probably. The phoenix feather wand couldn't rise from the flames this time. I lay back, angry. OK, I would kick down the door if it wasn't shut tight, or locked with some invincible magical force that would electrocute whoever touched the doorknob. It was always possible. I edged forwards on my elbows, pain stabbing through my legs as I dragged them along aimlessly. There was a door, looming high and frightening. I reached up - pain was something you had to live with when you were the Chosen One, whether or not you were wandless and all hope had been lost.

Damn, footsteps.

I skittered back as fast as I could, blood racing and heart thumping violently as I felt fear clenching in my stomach. I braced myself for what was coming, though I was wandless, I could still try and do the customary fighting skills. The standard knee to the groin, and then an uppercut into their nose, smashing it into their brain. Or I could just punch them just under their Adam's apple and where their shirt collar opened, enough to paralyze them momentarily. Max would undoubtly be better at fighting than I was. I had seen her roundhouse kick that could cave in the chest of an ordinary man ...

The door creaked open.

_* * *_

**Max P.O.V: **

'_Gone?' _

Hermione sniffled. 'Yes,' she confirmed, and I felt my heart's pounding lessen and then sink to thump dully in my stomach. Alice's prediction said he would die lying in a pool of his own blood and unless the scarlet liquid on the fragments of glass was bright red cordial ... Harry had been captured and all of the trailing ribbons of blood couldn't just be Hermione's. I shuddered. I had been angry at Harry and said things that were regrettable: the cutting glass, the fragile walls and someone or something that would pull him through the glassy surfaces. How ironic that it had happpened like that, minutes from the chime of midnight.

It was past midnight now, but how odd that the worst should happen at the darkest hour, the pinnacle between the lateness of a day and the coming of another. Midnight was something that was always dreaded in books, where something was to happen that wasn't good. Hermione had told me that she thought Halloween was cursed and something oddly forlorn would happen like a surprise gone wrong and that wasn't more of a surprise but a shock, something that either made blood race and pulses thump with fright or adrenalin rush.

A troll in the dungeons or writing daubed in blood on the castle walls, permanetly etched into the stone, with a threatening message that the chamber of secrets was once again, opened forever and would unleash hell and suspense upon the suspecting, Muggle-born students and hang a cat from a torch bracket. A murderer, impossibly sneaking into Hogwarts during a feast to get his revenge on a backstabbing wizard transformed into a rat, an innocent man whose life had been ruined into imprisonment. Harry being a Triwizard champion and having to battle against firebreathing dragons on a broomstick, surpassing mermaids that tried to drown him and a maze that ended in a graveyard when Voldemort returned from a place where he was not dead, but less than ghost, more like a scabbed, decaying baby with a man's snake-like face ...

'So what - what happened?'

Hermione spoke past her tears. 'All I remember is a shattering of glass and a metallic snarling ... it sounded like - like steel fingernails down a b-blackboard. And there was - there was red blinking lights as eyes and a swarming sound of bees and F-Flyboys smashed those windows ... and then there was pain, and my limbs felt like they had been - snapped, snapped in half. I could hear a robotic laughing, like they liked the sound of my screaming. I could smell blood and ... and smoke. I was in the dark ...'

'I woke up, and Harry was gone,' she said brokenly, her voice breaking in the perfect spot. 'I don't know how they got past the protective spells. Flyboys aren't magical only metallic and with all the machinery embedded in their bodies, or structures, they should've collapsed within an hundred mile radius of the castle. They should've shortcircuited and dropped like electrocuted butterflies. I only know of one exception to the "electric devices doesn't work around magic" rule and that's _you_. Maybe, being made by the same people, they're an exception too. Dumbledore ...' Words failed her.

'_Dumbledore_,' I said angrily.

'Max, don't do anything stupid,' Fang said shortly.

'It won't be stupid.' I remembered Alice's words. Voldemort was fascinated, as fascinated as an emotionless person can get, but vampires that can walk in the sunlight without being burned to a cinder, but could possibly walked on hallowed ground though they were supposedly damned, who he had no means of knowing how to kill. He thought pouring holy water down vamp throats and watch them die choking blood would work. He cut out a vampire heart and burnt it, proving that magic and fire could kill an indestructible vampire - they were immortal, but they could still be murdered.

What if I could get Voldemort to turn on the Volturi, get him to find that, if he used a severing charm he could dismember the vampires and set fire to them, turning them into a smoldering pile of ashes. That would mean he'd get what he wanted, and could make the creatures unlike any others, not just of darkness but also light, turn into smoking, ashy bonfire heaps.

And the Volturi were fascinated by an immortal creature who was not of vampire origin, who had an everlasting soul split into cases, whose mere name struck fear in wizard's hearts, seeing him as gift in disguise, worthy of their royal standard ... _Lord _Voldemort, the Death Eater's title for their master. His curses thrilled them and they thought Jane, the childlike angel with the maligant gift, could not even withstand what the torture spell contained. But deep down, they might be scared of him. Voldemort was not a person even vampires could treat lightly. What if the Volturi could take Voldemort out of the equation? Could they, with their invincible gifts ofin their sycophantic guard, withstand the torture that came with breaking the Horcruxes and burning the embedded pieces of a black soul? Could then they get Harry to finish the Dark Lord off?

And Itex could be destroyed. _"Their scientific impulses see the supernatural as unnatural beings; to be experimented upon, but the fear that pierces their hearts, and their instincts see the dread hour upon them. Itex has their ... gifts but unlike the immortal creatures are ... disposable. Only they don't know that. They think if their allied with the supernatural, they are immune to death." _If I could kill that notion that existing with immortal creatures meant yourself was immune to dying, to be killed just like any other mortal in this world, perhaps Itex would abandon their supernatural cohorts, in favour of running and hiding. Of course, you couldn't run from people who can easily find you, with their gifted trackers and finding spells.

'What are you planning to do?'

A number of possibilites ran through my mind. Option One: we needed Harry. He couldn't save the wizarding world if he was lying dead in a pool of his own blood, like I had seen in so many horror movies were people were nailed to the walls with machetes.

Option Two: defeat the Volturi and Voldemort, so Alice's visions of pools of blood, of shadows lurking with blades and figures lingering over a corpses like a doll whose joints have been twisted the wrong way until they broke, with glittering teeth exposed, wouldn't come true. I hated thinking that some innocent people would be dead but not quite dead, humans not yet turned, people being bitten by an army of vampires. Burning, suffering. People's lives would not be ended, but they would live forever. And when you can live forever, what do you live for?

To save other people? To let them die too? Or to realize that their life has ended so they should be pushing up daisies under gravestones. I had read something once: "a good vampire acknowledges that they are dead." But if a vampire could save a hundred people ... a thousand people ... what was the use of being dead? Still, I would not have people being being burnt by a fire that blazed as hot as a everlasting flames, until their hearts stopped beating, and the guilt that would rest on my conscience by people who wanted to have children, to grow up. I would also take out Itex. They couldn't reform. If they won, not only would there be many more vampires, but many more genetic experiments. Children being altered.

Option Three: Admit defeat. Let them drain our blood from our bodies and let them rule the world with a combination of dark magic and fake plastic vampire fangs. Of course, option 3 was inexcusable. I couldn't do that. I had to do option two first, then save Harry, if it was possible to defeat the Volturi and Itex. Only he could kill Voldemort.

'I want to talk to Dumbledore and discuss tactics.' As soon as I said the words, I knew it was the right thing to do.

* * *

**Harry P.O.V:**

The door creaked open.

I braced myself. WWMD? What would Max do? Max would let rip with her inner sarcasm, but that wasn't an option. In my world, screaming: "I vill now destroy the Snickuhs bahrs!" would likely get you killed. Dark wizard's only had a twisted sense of humour, where torture made them laugh, whereas a joke about asking if you used an aquarium cleaner to clean out a Plexiglas box was going to make them hurt you more. Screaming altogether was useless. The middle of nowhere had a reason for being called the middle of nowhere.

It was a place where the only shaft of sunlight was covered by tangled tree roots and where shadows lurked, waiting to pounce; where Little Red Riding Hood wouldn't been devoured by the Big Bad Wolf. A place like a desert, where you would die of the thirst. Where a squirrel running up a tree would make you scream so loudly you'd hurt your ears, where an insect chirping would make you jump so badly, you'd hurt yourself. And even if the middle of nowhere did have wizards, they were the wizards that would take delight in your screams. Screams were like music to them. People Voldemort kept were people who liked the sound your pain, your leg crushed under a heavy metal roller, the torture curse.

With the second the door slipped open, I had begun to panic, with a sense of crushing fear twisting my heart round and round and kept clenched. I wasn't afraid to die - it seemed oddly inevitable. Something I had mentally prepared myself for, without realizing it. No - I was afraid for what would happen if I did die in a pool of blood, blood that would stain the floorboards red, so maybe the next person searching for beauty would know to run, to get out of this damned house. I was scared that people would die because I had. I thought desparately of the people I loved and feared for more than anyone in the world. Ron, Hermione. The Weasley's. The Order of the Phoenix. _Ginny._

Ginny.

I clenched my jaw. Wormtail shuffled in, piteously weak but with an unpleasant sneer on his rat-like, snivelling features. I felt a surge of hatred as I glared into his watery, though strangely satisfied watery blue eyes. There was coldness there, but also something that looked weird. Not quite guilt, or embarassment. With a jolt of shock, I realized that it was ... pity. I looked like James, my father and my mother, Lily. Wormtail remembered, and he felt pitiful for my soon-coming death. Not that he wished it was him, but he would rather it someone else than have to see Lily's eyes before I died, and my rotting corpse that would still look like James even when my emerald, almond-shaped eyes were closed. He didn't care for _me_, he felt sorry for himself.

And that just made me madder than ever. WWMD? I glared him furiously, squaring my shoulders and standing as tall as I could with my swollen side. Burn him with my anger. I stared silently and haughtily, like I didn't care what he thought, what he was going to do to me. I saw my reflection in his eyes. My face was set in the look Max had given me before she punched me in the face. The look before she had flipped the blueberry pie at Malfoy. I thought I had hated people before, my uncle, my aunt and Dudley. I was wrong. _This _was hatred.

* * *

**Max P.O.V:**

'Don't get too mad,' Hermione begged. We were on the circular staircase to Dumbledore's office and Hermione was pleading with me not to do anything stupid or stupid-_er_. Hermione is sweet, but very naïve. The flock had agreed halfheartedly and now were trying to let some insane rage put apples in their pale cheeks that were steadily becoming ashy and even somewhat colourless. Was it them they were fearing for, or was it just that this castle had been so cold that their faces were pale? Fang was the exception - he was in an unusually ... cheerful mood, per se. Going out with Fang does not make him less cynical, so I had let Angel "persuade" him. He had thought letting me to talk to Dumbledore was the stupidest idea I'd ever had since I let Gazzy eat a six-foot party-sized sub but of course, he Angel made up his mind for him.

'Why does everyone always think that? I won't ruin the chances of saving Harry,' I said impatiently, forgetting momentarily what her point would be. It's not like I need anger-managment classes. So I may've punched a couple of wizards, and flipped a blueberry pie into Malfoy's face, that ended with diastarous consequences (meaning a restraining order and letting rip the Grand Food Fight of the Century) but that didn't mean I had temperment issues.

Hermione gave me an incredulous, 'are you kidding _me_?' look and I pulled a self-sacrificing grimace. She nodded with grim understanding. 'OK, point taken. I'll just ... be nice. As nice as I can. Nothing irrational, stupid or rude.' I drew a cross above my heart with mock solemity and surreptitiously crossed my other fingers behind me back. She rolled her eyes.

That was when the door opened.

'Ah, Maximum and Miss Granger. To what do I owe you this very late pleasure?' Dumbledore was standing there, looking weirdly awake even though it wasn't even approaching daylight, and was barely into the early morning hours of another day. Hermione looked abashed and muttered something under her breath that sounded like an apology, and I could see why he had silenced her. He looked frightening, his dark robes making his beard look especially white. Hermione hurried off, and I could hear her light footsteps becoming heavy, like she was carrying a weight on her shoulders - worried, tense, just like the rest of us, it seemed. Dumbledore's scary expression faded and he looked only tired.

'I wanted to talk to you ... um ... sir,' I said formally.

'Come in, Maximum.' Dumbledore was using "Maximum" rather than just Max, and I wondered if he was acting oddly formal too for my benefit, or just was simply angry with me - in my knowledge, people tended to call me Maximum when they were pissed and trying hard not to show it. They say it sarcastically, sneering slightly and then try to act casual, but there's also that undercurrent of tension and fury. Dumbledore didn't use any f those, he was just calm and focused. It unnerved me. I think I liked it better when they were being jerks, so I could be sarcastic back and infuriate them more. Just like that, all my plans to yell and shriek and carry on until something was done about Harry quickly evaporated.

'Professor, I'm here ... about ... about ...' I said awkwardly. Where did all my charisma that annoyed people go?

'About Harry,' Dumbledore finished knowingly. He was one of those people who knew all and saw all, I thought with my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach again and then twisting into a heartbeat that thumped anxiously. Those people made me uneasy, like they were about to seize a jagged piece of metal and sink into my back, because they knew I wouldn't expect it. Or they made me nervous like they knew everything I was thinking and everyone I would possibly ever think. Or maybe he had just heard Hermione snapping at me relentlessly. She's like Nudge, making Mother Theresa into an ax murderer, only in a different kind of way. 'I thought so - heard Miss Granger on the staircase.' OK, the seemed to seal the deal for me.

'You're not the only one whose worried,' Dumbledore said in amusement. 'Miss Weasley is concerned as well.' There was a jolt of dark red, and I thought it was a bloodstain for a heartstopping moment, but it was only Ginny's hair looking like an amber sun in the night sky of the earliest time of the morning. A glow of red against black. She was stroking Dumbledore's phoenix. Ginny turned, and tears that had casaded down her face was now dried.

They were clear against her pale, pinched face. She glared at me and the feeling of my heart twisting to a nervous pounding increased, the unease deepening in my mind, like a planted seed that grows into a weed - I had thought we were over our differences, but the look of disgust she gave me quickly squashed that thought. She blamed me for Harry, and I knew it. The glare disappeared and then she looked ... almost guilty. Apologetic.

'So, Harry has been captured,' Dumbledore continued, 'now what are you going to do about it?'

* * *

**Harry P.O.V:**

'What do you want, Wormtail?'

Wormtail flinched, making the Cowardly Lion look like the Terminator. 'I - I have come to deliver a message from the Dark Lord,' he stuttered, looking discomfited as he stumbled over nothing and then righted himself, blushing awkwardly. I would've felt sorry for him, if he hadn't ruined my chance of ever having a family by betraying them to Voldemort and all that. I waited now, shocked that I felt impatient. Which made me wonder if Max has influenced me more than I thought.

'Well, go on,' I said in irritation.

'He says that your hours are numbered, so you should treat every moment as if it was your last.'

I crossed my fingers into a cruxifix and held it up tauntingly. Wormtail reddened, spluttering indignantly and then settled into tomato-red silence. He couldn't think of an insult that didn't have stammering and it was oddly satisfying to see his face work furiously as it coloured slowly back to normal. 'The Dark Lord will see to your ... insolence,' Wormtail spat, and turned on his heel, slipped inelegantly and slid back into his shuffling posture as the door creaked shut behind him, but with a resounding slam. I heard his dull shuffle-slap of his footsteps down the stairs, and then disagreeable mumblings and a harsh shout.

There was a slapping sound, that reminded me of something horribly degrading, like kicking a dog. There was a pained shriek and then heavier footfalls, stomping up the staircase and a groaning of strained wood. I tensed again, expecting someone like Greyback, whose slavering canine fangs were most threatening and prominent of all his werewolf features, even when it was not full moon. I pictured his fingernails shooting out like talons, claws and sticking through me if I so much flipped him off behind his back.

If it was Malfoy, I would take him apart using only my teeth, if necessary. He had fallen from grace, and his escape from Aazkaban was well-publicised, as he had gone to such torturous efforts to free himself, most illegal, even though breaking out of jail and going on the run was a crime in itself. Not to mention that when my girlfriend was eleven, he nearly got her killed by placing Tom Riddle's diary in her second-hand spellbook.

Oh - what if it was _Bellatrix_?

As much as I wanted Bellatrix's soul to perish in the fire-pits of the underworld for murdering my godfather, I felt a strange discomfort - not an unwilling admiration but a kind of grudge. Bellatrix would sneer, acting overly-smug and show her dispassionate contempt for her the bane of her existence - she would be undoubtably gleeful to torture me. My first reaction was worry, and the knee-jerk reaction was that she needed another hobby. No, Voldemort's followers can't do normal things like knitting or scrapbooking, they prefer to kill people in a preferably slow and tortorous method.

Though I was wandless, I felt she would show no mercy - she had no mothering instinct, as Narcissa Malfoy did, and Narcissa would probably linger grudgingly, worried because she had a son and her in her book, she wouldn't torture a child at the expense of Draco. If Narcissa Malfoy had a choice to torture me mercilessly or find her missing son, she would pick her son every time. Not Bellatrix. Bellatrix's whole life as a Death Eater revolved around torture - she liked to "play with her food and eat it." I was like the carrot on top of her mashed potato mountain.

Please, for the love of all that is holy, let it not be Bellatrix.

The door swung open and lo and behold, Bellatrix's sneering, malicious face came forth.

God must not be listening right now.

* * *

**Max P.O.V:**

_'That's_ your solution?' I cried indignantly. What kind of person says, "now what are you going to do about your missing friend?" I was thinking he'd be opposed to finding Harry because those who had been captured by dark wizards could only be found if you already knew where they where being hidden. I didn't think Dumbledore would be one of those people who could find someone because he always knew where they were being kept in the first place. I knew he knew all and saw all, but I didn't think he was _that_ good. Maybe he had one of those pieces that followed the tenor, the vibrating thoughts of someone's mind so they could find the vauge whereabouts of a missing person's location, like when Professor Xavier tried to search for Rogue in _X-Men. _

Some kind of freaking magical compass that points in the direction of whoever you're looking for? Or maybe he had just gone and implanted a microchip in Harry's arm when he was a baby, so now that all the veins and muscles had embedded to tracer, Harry could always be found because if it got taken out, he'd lose the use of his wand arm. Or maybe I was just getting paranoid and basing stuff from movies and my life into a supernatural world that doesn't have microchips in it.

Ginny apparently shared my thoughts because she hissed, 'what kind of a solution is that, Professor? I'm sorry, sir, but "what are you going to do about it?" is ... ridiculous! It's an impossible thing to try and find someone who can only be found if you already know where they are! Especially if it's a kidnapping and the person who captured the person you're looking for doesn't _want_ to be found.' OK, now I was confused.

'Do you have a better idea?' Dumbledore said, looking unfazed.

'Do _you_, sir?' I challenged. 'We should start from the very beginning ... which is a very good place to start.'

'It is indeed,' Dumbledore said delightedly, 'the very beginning. When The Fates entwined our worlds in such an unpredictable way that not even dear Alice could've envisioned it. It's just a moment like that when you're life changes ... forever. It makes a world where imagination runs free to something nobody would've expected. Like Wonderland where it turned out not to be the perfect little world she dreamed of, but a world were the most unusual things happened.

Where Max and her flock landed on top of St. Mungo's Hospital, punched Harry Potter in the face and ended up in a castle where they didn't fit in. Where vampires can walk in sunlight without becoming cinder, where the girl who is meant to save the world begins dreaming of these magical creatures. Where Ginny Weasley thinks that the horrible figure of a ghost story is Maximum herself. Where people fall in love when they thought it was impossible to, where the Chosen One gets kidnapped right under my nose. It_ is_ most suspicious, isn't it?'

Our mouths were hanging open then, and Ginny sank haphazardly into a spindly golden chair.

'You thought - you thought _I _was the devil's spawn?' I said, too shocked to let the anger evade.

'I was wrong,' Ginny said faintly.

'You should sit down,' Dumbledore suggested mildly, 'I find it is better to be seated when crushing realizion settles in. Horrible feeling.'

'That night, I was wrong. So very wrong. Remus made me disbelieving that you really cared. He said, "in the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, "let there be light" and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and He separated the light from the darkness". I thought that while you were the light, you were also the darkness too. That, in all that came, you were the shadows, neither entirely light nor dark, but something that was dark that could appear in the sunlight.

It scared me. Remus said that the devil incarnate didn't believe in separating the light from the darkness and wanted to combine the light - the creatures that could walk in sunlight without becoming ash, with the darkness, the creatures that do drink blood. And then when Alice and Jasper came, people who were beautiful and inhuman, not red-eyed blood drinkers but golden-eyed god-like people, clearly more than human, and you seemed to know them easily enough, it scared me more.

Then you said how they could walk in the sunlight and sparkle, not become dust. How all the vampire myths I had heard of of the blood-suckers that did drink the blood of humans - but Alice and Jasper drank animal blood because they didn't want to be monsters. It almost sealed the deal for me that you were the evil one ... until ... until you spoke to Harry about them. How much you loved the vampires even though you barely knew them. It changed my mind.'

'But Remus said that the devil's spawn kept his soul locked in everlasting cases and I still had my pure soul, inside me.'

'I didn't know about Horcruxes then,' Ginny said softly, 'I thought that part was imagination running wild, myths that had been twisted by dark creatures to make it sounded like there really was a person who could have a black heart and a black soul. Remus must've heard it from the werewolves in the Forbidden Forest, that's what I concluded. Evil creatures. I ignored it.'

'That's you ran away so quickly that night,' I said quietly. I remembered the shimmering crash of Ginny's fondant dish, that fell into the lantern-lit grasses with a tinkling chime, the lone strawberry that rolled off into the distance. Her disinterest and uncaring tone, how she had only paused long enough to hear that even immortal creatures could be murderered, so it was not impossible to murder the devil's spawn - me - if you knew how to make the hearts stop beating. How she scurried off to the castle fearfully. How Angel didn't realize because she was asleep and how Ginny had kept her distance since then, only speaking when spoken to, spending all her time with Dean. Avoiding me.

'Yes. I did research, and all the legends were so extravagant it seemed ... impossible. And if it was true, I would know and I would be able to kill you before you killed anyone else. I dismissed it as soon as I saw how much you truly cared for people, even people who were immortal and inhuman, and how you would move heaven and hell for them. And realized how I was ... too late to save the people_ I_ loved because I had assumed to worse and ignored what was right in front of my eyes.'

'It's OK, Gin,' I said kindly. 'You made a mistake and we all make mistakes. The best thing about making mistakes is that you can always do your best to fix them.'

'Well, this is marvellous,' Dumbledore said, pleased. 'Now, Maximum - what do _you _know?'

* * *

**Harry P.O.V:**

Bellatrix Lestrange looked at me with malice. She radiated horrible smugness, her wand was aloft with a threatening poise that wasn't very subtle - it had an air of suspense that made my breath catch by all the terrible things that that wand had delivered mercilessly. Her eyes were gleaming with a fanatic's passion, and I felt another surge of hatred as I saw the nasty, contempt smile playing around her black-painted lips.

She let the tip of her wand lightly carass my nose in a teasing way, but a teasing way that makes you think she wants to calm you down before she makes the pain worse. I wanted to snap it in half. 'Harry Potter.' I was shocked to find that her voice was not the fierce snarl I remembered, but a tinkling, babyish cooing, the type that went with pink bubblegum and little girl lisps. 'Itty Bitty ... _Baby_ ... Potter.' Oh, the degrading tactic. Always a favourite for the imaginatively bankrupt.

'What do you _want_, Bellatrix?'

Bellatrix hissed, but then smiled wickedly with a gloating nastiness. 'The Dark Lord knows you only have hours to live and to spend each moment as your last. I want you to feel the burn of agony as it pierces your pure heart, the draining of your blood, as life is sapped from your soul and the light fades as you die. I want to hear your scream of pain, to know the Dark Lords is the one who can stop you writhing as your feel crippled from the torture. I want to hear you beg, Potter. I want you to know you are not the greatest. You are incapable of being a leader. Shall we put that to the test, Baby Potter?'

'Only if you are brave enough to fight me wandless, Bellatrix.'

'I am not stupid,' Bellatrix said contemptuously. She flicked her wand. There had been light someplace, a dully golden light but still brightness, like the flame of a candle, the speck of light that made this attic seem not quite so dark. The light was gone now - all I could hear was rain pounding droplets and the shrieking of wind; see the lightning shatter into a thousand bolts behind my eyelid, taste the metallic taste of fear on my tongue. I had never been scared of thunderstorms but now the fear was suffocating me, worse than I could've imagined in my most horrible nightmares. Bellatrix was cackling, the delighted cooing sound that did not sound right coming from her snarling, black-painted lips.

'But, like the fairy godmother in the fairytale, I will grant your wish,' Bellatrix cried, 'only the chime of midnight won't break my spell ... only when the sand in the hour-glass has spilt shall you be free. If you haven't died from the fright before the curse lifts.' She laughed a different laugh: tinkling, nasty laugh of delight - the laugh that she gave when she was gleeful someone was crying out in pain.

'Might teach you a lesson.' Bellatrix's wand raised to cast her binding spell and I waited, heart pounding dangerously as the fright befalled me, even more awful than the rain and the wind - it would undoubtably be hallucinations, a severed arm on the floorboards, a faceless girl dragging her strangled body toward me. I had heard of spells like this - it was more terrifying than a Boggart. Not just your worst fear, but everyone's worst fear, over and over again until the time ran out.

There was a shattering crunch from downstairs. Bellatrix looked dismissive, and gave me a twisted smirk that made me wonder if she thought the waiting would weaken me before her curse did. She ran downstairs, heels clicking, shrieking at someone who I hoped was Wormtail.

I closed my eyes in defeat. There was such as thing as "_way too close_" after all.

* * *

**Max P.O.V:**

'My story? You know everything already. You've said as much.'

'I don't know everything, Maximum,' Dumbledore said calmly, 'I don't know why the sun rises at daybreak and sets on the brink of twilight. Why the sky is blue or how can it be blue all the time when it can be grey? Why we are born, live only a short time, and then die. And I don't know why people insist that to love is to destroy, and to be loved is to be the one destroyed. I especially don't know why you humans think the lying is the best way to protect the ones you care for - '

'OK,' I said angrily, 'maybe I should rephrase that. What don't you know about my story?'

'I don't know what Alice Cullen saw.'

'Ali?' I said, disorientated. 'Alice saw ... terrible things. Pools of blood, of shadows lurking with blades and figures lingering over a corpses like a doll whose joints have been twisted the wrong way until they broke, with glittering teeth exposed. Innocent people dead but not quite dead, humans not yet turned, people being bitten by an army of vampires. Burning and ... suffering. She saw Harry's body drained of blood, his mangled body lying with his limbs snapped. She saw Renesmee in a ballet studio, twisting a piece of ribbon in her hands, and the ribbon was almost falling apart. And me ... she never said what she saw for me.'

Dumbledore's façade shattered. 'Figures lingering over corpses with glittering teeth exposed?' I nodded and then I made a sound as breath was caught in her throat, making my heart beat frantically for air, like I was being strangled in wire in the ocean. I breathed out - the nightsky was darkening the glass of the window and looked like a _vampire_, my face delicate, hollowed, pale - entirely bloodless. Shocked.

My mouth opened again, as thoughts scattered like leaves in the breeze, making an odd choking noise. There was only one of us left that could be seen as a corpse with a figure - a vampire - leaning over their bodies, with their sparkling teeth poised to strike, to let venom in my system before my organs shut down completely. I remembered thinking that if you can live forever, what could you live for? What would_ I_ live for?

'What do we _do_?'

'We find anyone and everyone who we care about most in the world,' Dumbledore said, 'the ones who we would die for because we love them. People who we trust with our own lives. People who know what is coming for them and are prepared to fight. We need the Cullens and the Order - anyone who will help. Fawkes will ask them - we are not asking anyone to risk their lives, but we want the ones who will do what is right. Anyone in the Order who will come with us. Any vampire coven or wanderer who will band together with their friends. We are going to _fight_.'

'Where?' Ginny said hollowly.

'Forks, of course.'

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**note: Hope you liked this chapter - the longest I've ever written! If you want, I now have a homepage link on my profile that is for my stories - it has a gallery of pictures from this fic. Also, I have begun another story called "I Will Try to Fix You" - a Twilight Edward x Bella fic - check it out if you want to! - Emma. **


	23. Once

**Once:**

**Max P.O.V:**

_Once_, I remembered looking out of my cage. The bars were burnished silver, the metal that gets flaming hot in the burning sunlight, and it had twisted metal, like jaggedy spikes, entwined around the poles. If, on a summer day, you put your hand on the burnished silver, you will burn away your skin, and have a twisted metal piece is stuck deep. Away from the tarnished metal is a window - showing a golden coin, the sun, glimmering a bright, burning amber in the midday pale blue sky, the rays shining over the hills and lighting up the room.

The horizon shows more twisted wire, on a burnished metal fence and bronze stakes that pierce the blue sky. The fence borders a training yard, the image of beauty and horror - beautiful because of the daffodils, bright yellow that spring up in the grass; and horrible because the grass is scarlet from split blood. Blood has welled up and trickles down. It's a place of death.

Every day, the sky was a blue: powder, aqua, turquoise, then darker: peacock, cornflower, sapphire, and at winter, the blue of a sea during a thunderstorm, midnight, navy. The flowers withered - it was no longer mere beauty, but it was frightening to see greyness, the only jolt of colour bright scarlet. And I thought I was alone, completely alone.

Once, I thought it would be like that forever.

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'So what do you think?'

Ginny's heart must be pounding a mile a minute, she was racing up the staircase so fast in her delicate ballet flats that she should've fallen on her ass. High-tops, I love, you can run in high-tops, pink laces and all. Cherry red ballet flats are so fragile it's like running barefooted. Ginny is so composed: her every movements look like dancing, a ballerina in freakin' ribboned slippers, only more sharply, humanly, graceful than, say, Alice's floaty movements. Now it was odd to see her running like a bat out of hell, red hair flying like a flag, skin blushed.

I knew Ginny didn't mind dirt, but she was always so ... pristine. She had been on the same page as me when it came to Forks. I loved the States, and I missed America: the home of ordering a double cheese hamburger, large fries and then a Diet Coke. Ginny loved the idea of the States; the fact you can have a Vegas wedding by Elvis; or the fact that in California, everyone either lives next to a movie star or goes surfing.

_I think we're all going to die_, but I lied: 'I think there's going to be something to learn from all of this', and Ginny smiled like she knew I was lying like a rug. I smiled too; and Ginny's eyes flashed like she didn't believe me for one second: my genuine, warm smile must've been a heart-tugging, doubtful grimace. If I couldn't fool Ginny, who had been like the sister I'd never had, how could I fool the flock who I had loved and annoyed for almost a lifetime? It was nothing short of impossible.

'We don't have any other choice.'

We gave the Fat Lady the password - I wondered if the "Fat Lady" was her real title, or if the artist was simply unimaginative to title a painting after a woman's dress size. I mean, even though supermodels are size zero, size 16 is _not_ fat. Marylin Monroe, one of the most beautiful women in history, was a size 16. The Fat Lady must have a real name. Something flowery or old-fashioned. Like Elizabeth or Charlotte or Victoria, like those collectable porcelain dolls with the parasols that looked like cocktail umbrellas.

The common room looked like it was still midnight, even though the sun was on the horizon, daybreak gleaming with sunlit rays of dappled light, lavender fluffy clouds and then brilliant pink-orange sky. The coming of a new day. Darkness is so predictable. But without the night, we would never see the stars. The flock, Hermione, Ron, Luna and Neville Longbottom were round the fireplace, looking at the tongues of crackling flames sparking like fireworks, amber and orange jolts inside the grate - the bright colour made their faces seem even paler, especially Hermione, who looked grey. Her eyes were dark and staring.

Only Ron seemed to have colour; his face was still like a hollowed wax statue, but it had a scarlet tint, like the dolls in Madame Tussaud's, the doll-house/wax museum where they colour in the cheeks of celebrities to make the look real. He looked drawn but there was an underlying tone of ... cheerfulness. Like he would've been depressed, but there was something like a helium balloon lifting his mood. Ginny smiled, and it was so fake it almost looked real. Fang spoke first. Well, he didn't speak, but his black eyes looked at me and so many words passed between us in that instant.

'Pack your bags.' An order made it look like I had a plan, and as imaginatively stupid as it may be, any kind of plan makes sure you know what you want and when you want it. Even when you're paddling upstream in a canoe without any means of propulsion away from the the river rapids that swished over a casading waterfall. You could always jump onto the river embankment while you still had a chance, but what was the use of that when there were creatures waiting for you in the jungle? It was a Hobson's choice - a choice that isn't really a choice. "You can clean your room, or I will sing your least favourite song over and over". Nobody wants to clean their room, but they don't want to hear their least favourite song on a loop either. I had no choice.

The flock, Luna and Neville rose as one; and went in light footsteps like they were about to take flight, Total padding at Angel's ivory-slippered heels. Fang looked at me darkly, and then like a shadow in the fringes of bright light, he followed, his black eyes alight and gleaming, kind of like only thing you can see in pitch blackness and the only thing that gives away you're not alone in the middle of the night. Like in cartoons. He had guessed more, and he already knew the reason behind my order without using mind-reading. I waited until I saw the slivers of their figures vanish from the portrait hall and turned. 'What is wrong with you, Ron?' I could feel anger blossoming. 'Your friend is _missing_.' Dumbshit. Ginny gave him a frosty glare.

'Lavender and I split up,' Ron looked pleased. I wasn't imagining Hermione's gloating smirk, the way her eyes glittered with malice. A moment later, her face was a perfectly blank mask, like it was carved from a pale, waxy marble. Her eyes were hollowed and black, not their usual deep-set brown. But she had definitely smiled, whether in triumph or glee, it was impossible to say, but she was not upset in the slightest. 'It was pretty bad while she was yelling,' Ron said uncomfortably, but he brightened, 'at least I didn't have to end it.'

'Coward,' I muttered. Ron skipped off - well, it wasn't quite skipping-among-the-wildflowers skipping, more like springing on the heel of his sneakers with the bright lime green laces. Hermione, strangely, was looking and more like she was at a very depressing funeral. 'What?' Her eyes were still hollowed, black and distinctly gloomy, like she was watching flowers wither; a lake dry, or someone ruin a beautiful piece of artwork with paint-stripper.

Her mouth was set into a miserable line. 'Lavender wasn't _just _angry, was she?' I couldn't imagine Lavender, with her cherry-print hair clips and glossy pink lipstick being homicidal. Then again, she used to hiss, 'my precious' at Ron in a brilliant impersonation of Gollum from the _Lord of the Rings_, though I think she was aiming for sweet.

'She was beyond words,' Hermione said sadly, 'Lavender's never shied away from attention, she's knows what she wants - centre stage, the object of focus, like a shiny toy in the sunlight flashed at a small child. She likes an audience, anything bold and crowded ... Lavender seemed - well - she took the break-up more than just crying yourself to sleep with a tub of Ben & Jerry's in your hand. She didn't look like she'd be getting over it anytime soon. She stormed off in her Christian Louboutin cream sandals.'

'What a drama queen. She can't hold a grudge for all of eternity,' Ginny said haughtily - she looked very coolly unruffled, dismissive and bored. 'We're talking about Malibu Barbie, not the feminine version of Darth Vadar. It's not like she'll hit Ron with a stun gun. She might break a nail. Lavender's complained enough times that she's incapable of lifting her cauldron in case her fake fingernail painted "Not-Really-A-Waitress-Red" snaps off and lands in her love potion ...' Ginny had lost her perfect composure and I wondered just how long she had been bottling her unconditional, unspeakable loathing for Ron's "one true love" because she cared enough about her brother than to insult Lavender Brown and her fake fingernails.

'Shut _up_, Ginny. Hermione, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. I don't think Lavender would so much as Taser us than stab us with one of her "Not-Really-A-Waitress-Red" glued-on fingernails,' I said gently, 'and if she tried, I would shove her cherry red fingernails so far down her throat that she would die choking on her own vomit like that guy from Led Zeppelin--'

'I get the picture,' Hermione said tiresomely. 'Just keep your eyes closed and your mind wide open.'

Somehow, somewhere, I thought I had heard that before.

'I will,' I said easily. I didn't think Lavender would do anything except stamp her foot in her Christian Louboutin cream sandals like girls did in TV shows like _America's Next Top Model_, only in their Manolo Blahnik stiletto boots. It wasn't like she was going to try and kill us all - even though almost anything can be used as a weapon, even her ridiculously cute cherry-print hairclips. I didn't underestimate her, though - girls aren't all just pretty faces, we can be dangerous - little Angel's ability to paralyze a grown man is a classic example. I went through the portrait hall and up the twining staircase to the guest tower.

'Max, can you help me fold my blouse?' Angel magically popped out of nowhere like a golden-haired genie in a bottle, wafting a blouse of the softest pink imaginable, like the colour of some rose-quartz engagement ring crystal. It had crease lines, like she had folded it, unfolded it and re-folded the blouse. Hermione has a perfectionist complex, so I folded the blouse into a perfect saque of soft-pink fabric and smoothed the collar so it lay flawlessly straight on the pink, daisy-print buttons. It's amazing how a person with as strong as personality as me can be influenced without knowing it.

'You almost finished, sweetie? Have you got Total's lavender-silk pillow?' Yeah, the dog has a lavender-silk pillow, courtesy him hating the crimson satin. Angel looked at me with her brilliant blue eyes, the exact same colour of the sky on a summer's day. Any other time, I would've looked away, her eyes are too beautiful to even comprehend, too bright, that strange azure shade of blue. But I wouldn't be seeing her eyes much longer, when I died.

'You're not going to die, Max.' Angel's voice was glacial, her brilliant, beautiful blue eyes of looking like frozen icicles. I stroked her golden curls, watching them become like spilled sunlight, or blonde rods, and then coil spectacularily. I remember thinking was like my little girl, I had taken care of her forever. She wasn't a little girl anymore. Angel nodded to my thoughts. I kissed her curls and went to find the flock.

Everyone was packing. Iggy and Gaz were fighting over whose Limited Edition Never-Been-Removed-From-The-Original-Packaging Transformers socks had Optimus Prime, and who had Megatron. Nudge was sitting on her trunk; where bright, multi-coloured clothes of all fabrics spilled like an exotic, brilliant rainbow, a ruffled lemon-shaded skirt most prominent. Shoes were on the floor: slingbacks and ballet flats and even my yellow engineer boots. It looked like Nudge had packed it all, no item of clothing would be left behind.

Nudge managed to get the catch to fasten and went out with a pair of colourful, hand-dyed sneakers dangling by the white laces. I found my trunk, smelling of musky flowers and dusty mothballs. I started putting all my clothes in; clothes from the dingy, indie depths of Camden, charity shops and fashionable, scarily glossy stalls Ginny had dragged me into, as well as the silk ivory dress from Alice, the red platform wedges with glittery straps, and my faded, scuffed windbreaker. There was a gust of wind from the window; shockingly icy like tiny snowflakes embedded in the breeze, the clinging sense of coldness even though it was fairly summery outside, and then the door creaked and I could feel Fang's dark shadow behind me.

'Crap, Fang, do you still do that?' I said, incensed and Fang almost smiled. He was dressed in black skinny leg jeans, only ones that weren't insanely emo by being insanely tight, and a midnight-blue shirt so dark it may as well have been black. Recently, Nudge and Angel had stolen all his shirts and bleached them a crazily stark white colour, in which Iggy and Gazzy had used paintball guns to hand-dye them all bright colours, in every shade, other than black or anything remotely dark; including a neon pink shirt that was once Fang's My Chemical Romance shirt.

'Yes,' he said simply. Fang had tried strangling Iggy, the mastermind behind the idea, until I had pulled them apart and threw a cheap bottle of black dye at Fang's head, and he had re-dyed his clothes. With mixed results. This lead for me to think of two conclusions: a) Alice had influenced them more than I'd thought; and b) it was amazing how even though times change, many, many things stay the same.

'Oh,' I said, and Fang almost smiled again, a little wider, his version of unbridled chortling. 'Is there anything you want?' Fang nodded. Communicating with Fang is like using only sign language; only with gestures with a surprising amount of different meanings. Fang's shrugging is never really "confused" but more like uncaring or simply bored. His nods are never agreeable, only just saying a simple "whatever".

'Well, I can't say anything,' I said as calmly as anyone could imagine me being impossibly calm, 'I promised.' This isn't a lie. I also thought making someone swear on their tombstone was a sacrifice not to tell the truth to a single living soul, but wizards have more binding ways of keeping promises; unbreakable promises that make you swear on your life. Ginny had said, "the unbreakable vow?" in tones of immense shock but Dumbledore had said he wouldn't go to such drastic measures. I don't know what the Unbreakable Vow is, but it doesn't sound very pleasant.

Instead, he made us promise on what looks a lot like voodoo bracelets. It was a charm on a black ribbon, a tiny silver horseshoe; cleverly enchanted so that if we told another living soul the truth about Alice's visions, the horseshoe would flip unluckily. Dumbledore would reveal if we had broken our promises, and if so, be punished. It was in my jeans pocket, and seemed to almost vibrate gently. Keeping a secret clearly meant a lot to Dumbledore. Also, wizard punishments aren't the same as Muggle ones.

'You promised?' Fang said in pure disbelief. 'On your life?'

'Not on my life,' I said frostily, 'I'm not trusting anyone enough to promise anything on my life.'

'Well, whatever, Max,' Fang said, equally coldly, and I wondered if he was unusually angered by something so trivial; trivial considering everything else that was of much more importance. Or maybe he was into that "relationship trust" shit. One date doesn't change my ability to keep my promises; even though I had never kept an important secret from Fang - I trusted him like he was a piece of my heart that would never betray me. It made me angry that he could be so unreasonable. He was frowning; but his face slowly relaxed. 'I know you tell me everything, and the only reason for you keeping silent is for a good reason.' Fang, surprisingly, kissed my forehead and left quietly.

Half an hour later, I dragged my trunk down the spiralling staircase and to the Gryffindor common room, where it was unceremoniously and gracelessly shoved by a gold-clothed armchair, looking musky-scented and faded in comparison to the bright colour. It was quietly there, not seeking attention in case Lavender Brown decided to graffiti it in lipstick or something. The flock's trunks were tucked away from sight too; the room looked very normal. Just in case, I put one of the leafy pot-plants in front of it. Can't take any chances, not now, not ever. And I waited.

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_Once_, all I wanted was to be free. I remember looking out at the night sky from my cage: it was nothing but darkness with glimmering points of light and reason shining in the sky like brilliant bulbs - it was beautiful, and yet I hated it. I had never seen the night sky from anything but burnished silver bars, and I longed to be able to fly in that darkness, amongst the stars and see my wings reflected in the moon's silver orb. One night, it was really unnaturally dark, the stars faded, dulling lights from behind the clouds.

I remember hearing light, almost-silent footsteps, like someone was walking on water, the twisted metal entwined around the bars being cut off, falling like delicate, spiky shards on the polished tiled floor like pointy teadrops; the usually-burning silver lock scrape, and voices in breathlessly whispering, the sound of angels - or someone who was frightened of being caught. I remember there being a man, with blondish hair, opening the locks on my cage, hands pulling me out.

I almost screamed - I wasn't afraid of the darkness, only the luminscent strobe lights with the yellow gleaming, the piercing of a syringe filled with neon chemical liquid, and the sound of mutants crying out in pain; all that associated with being dragged out by cold, forceful hands. I remember a voice hissing out instructions; not to silence me from shrieking in agony, in shock and fear for the unexpected, but whispering for me to run, to get out, to smash a window if necessary.

I remember seeing Fang's dark shadow flit past; hauntingly black wings like flags, cool breezes of wind as his feathers drifted lazily, ready for flight - he was the boy whose cage was next to mine, who was scarily dark and silent and who even the scientists were slightly unnerved by his unnatural movements, his frightening expressions. I remember watching as this boy who must've been my age, simply pick up a metal chair as if it was weightless and _throw _it through the glass window I used to stare out of, like a child might throw a rock through a glass greenhouse.

I remember taking flight for the first time in my life, the cool night air, the brilliant, beautiful night sky as red siren alarms broke through the peacefulness with the high-pitched whirling sounds. And a man, running in the darkness, blonde hair most prominent against the blackness.

Once, I was set free.

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**Later ...**

**Six o'clock in the evening: **

**FANG P.O.V:**

I was almost late for the feast. I almost ran up the spiralling staircase through the Charms corridor. My usually light footsteps echoed; the marble tiles were glossy and gleaming from too much polishing; I could see my darkened reflection in the opaque stone; repeated a thousand times over, because this corridor was like a hall of mirroring images and stone statues, like you were watching yourself, every move you took. Eyes of paintings followed me curiously; all of them dark with the acrylic, or watercolour, or whatever they used for paint in the 1600s and-- there were flashes of brightest red in one of the tiles, and I was stunned momentarily at the sudden shock of colour against all the ivory, pale perfection. It was strange how one of the flashes of red looked like a cherry ...

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**MAX P.O.V:**

Fang was almost late for the formal feast. It was a "surprise" for the flock, as we would be leaving for Forks at the chime of twelve, midnight precisely, when the moon was in the middle of the night sky like a silvery coin, or a pale, glimmering eye amongst the points of stars. Not many Slytherins wanted to be "sad", but all were willing to fake sweetness and maybe release a few teardrops for the our benefit, but they were all plainly overjoyed at us leaving, that half weren't bothering to act upset.

I was tired, my eyes had rings that looked like smudged mascara like a panda bear; the darkened shadows under my eyebones were so blackly prominent, despite the cups of strong coffee I had downed. Halfway through my fourth, Fang left, maybe to carve a memento of a star pentagram on the marble floor of Snape's office. I had yelled at him to be at the feast by at least quarter past, in formal wear, i.e.: not in black skinny jeans or black canvas-print sneakers, but at least a pair of jeans that didn't look too faded.

Now everyone had gone to the dinner; Nudge was wearing a dress that Alice had given her, it was a gleaming shade of dark violet, and Gaz had finally taken off his Pokemon _Bring It On _shirt in favour of a dark blue, buttoned shirt that matched his eyes. And I was waiting. I was wearing jeans, a beautiful shade of pale, icy blue, and a white beaded halterneck sewn with seed pearls. Nudge had braided turquoise ribbon in a French plait. I guess I looked a lot like an icicle. Now it was nearly ten past, and I had to look for Fang. But where to look?

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**FANG P.O.V:**

The flash of red was soon accompanied by this ... sound. It it echoed just like my footsteps: the sound vibrating off the opaque glass mirrors with a gutted sound like someone choking on ice-cream, or the wind shrieking in agony, or fingernails down a blackboard with this heartwrenching noise that was endless. It took me a moment to realize that it was not choking, but crying. _Oh_. In view, was a girl with blonde curls, spilling ringlets of golden sunlight, carefully coiled to fall around a peachy face, which was stained with teardroplets that were casading down like a freaking waterfall. In her hair, was a cherry-print hairclip.

Wait. This chick looked familiar, and there was a diamond "L" around her neck in studded white-gold jewels, the sort of charm that's meant to go on a keyring. Her name, was it ... Lola? Lucinda? Something higher in the alphabet. Lily? Lavender? Ron's ex-girlfriend, which would be why she was crying a thunderstorm. Maybe she had broken the heel of her cream coloured stilleto sandals that could nail someone's hand to the floor. I didn't know, and honestly didn't care. I kept walking.

'A-Are you just-just going to l-l-leave me h-ere?'

_Yes_, but because I had a black heart and a pure, guilt-tripping conscience I would act like the white light of heaven was shining down upon me like I was an angel on earth and listen like a saint to her blatant misery. I made my black canvas sneakers stop - against my better judgement. Lavender Brown, as I recall, was like the thorns in a rose bouquet, hidden in the blossoming petals and spiky ivy leaves that pricked your finger, nestling the thorn deep into the wound.

Or like the flea in your soup, the eyelash in your eye. Hermione had once said she released so many twisted vibes that we were all choking on her second-hand smoke. I had assumed it was some metaphor that was beyond my understanding, so I had let it drop rather than ask and recieve an imaginatively long, complicated explaination even more beyond my understanding. I may not be a genius, but I'm smart enough to know that sometimes it's better not to ask. Now I knew that Hermione meant that while Lavender was inhaling all the nicotine, we were all suffering from her leftover crap.

'What's wrong?'

'He - he b-broke up with ... with m-me,' she howled, tears gushing. My reaction was to look at my shoes - my black canvas print sneakers have scarlet laces with a metallic matrix of flared skulls. I remembered dimly Max saying not to wear the canvas print sneakers, but the only other shoes I had were red-and-black checked sneakers. Maybe I could find some white tennis shoes, and colour them in with Magic Marker.

'We were dating for ... eight - eight months!' I thought it was only about three, but whatever. 'I thought he - he l-l-loved ... me,' Lavender sniffled. She carried on in a similiar manner for a while, until I wondered if this was when girls started inspecting their nails out of boredom, or if guys were supposed to count floor tiles or something.

I couldn't handle crying girls, especially _this_ crying girl.

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**Max P.O.V:**

I ran down the staircase, realizing with a heartstopping jolt of annoyance that I couldn't locate North. Not for the first time, I wished on a shooting star, a fallen eyelash and a four-leafed clover that I could make a compass appear out of nothingness, which is magical terms for _everywhere at the same time. _Waving a stick of cherry wood or birch wood or holly wood and conjuring up a map from the tip like a snowy-white rabbit from a magician's top hat would be so convenient, but like all mortals, I had to tie a piece of yarn to a statue and follow my footsteps through the impossibly confusing labyrinth - the castle.

As I hurried down the corridor, I thought if I should suggest that Dumbledore get one of those "You Are Here" maps on billboards, like ones at the zoo that tell you where they keep the two-toed sloths, only instead, which classroom, which corridor. I knew on the fundamental rules of being lost, like at Wal-Mart, was to either go to the reception desk and get a message transmitted over the PA system to helpfully locate the person who was looking for you, or to either stand completely still and search the immediate area. I couldn't do either of these things.

Sometimes, I wish I could walk through walls.

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**Fang P.O.V:**

Three and a half minutes later, Lavender's tears were still casading down her face like a waterfall. A brilliant, crystal-clear shade they spilled like fallen stars, only salty instead of sparkling. Her eyes were as dark as a river during a thunderstorm, and her face was a chalkily pale as a vampire, as someone undead who has lived their entire life in an unlit, unbrightened room.

If only. That would be far more interesting than a girl who was leaving a small lake behind her constantly flowing tears. I was now late, no time to change into a faded pair of denim jeans and a dark-washed, blue-tinted shirt that was better than a Hawthorne Heights tee-shirt. 'We were so perfect, together.'

Suddenly, her hand clasped around my wrist: her fingernails were so impossibly elegant, such a bright cherry-red colour that they must be fake - they were like talons of a phoenix, the jolting colour, the fact they were so polished you could see your reflection in the paint. Her blue eyes were such an unnatural colour, not beautiful in the slightest, like chips of ice. Not Angel's brilliant shade of blue. It was like tinted glass. And full of determination. She leaned upwards, not gracefully, but clumsily, and pressed her lips to mine.

Oh, _shit. _

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**Max P.O.V:**

I am running down near the Charms corridor. A painting of a beautiful girl with cascading ringlets in a flowing bun and carefully escaping tendrils kindly directs me to a boy she saw with black canvas-print sneakers, only she eloquently described them as patterned soles, because she'd never heard of Converse or any of their multi-coloured laces diversity range, or anything that resembled Magic Marker skulls. I rounded the corner, my pink high-tops looking glowingly bright on the polished marble tiles of the corridor, opaque and glossy; like neon rims.

Fang was there, I recognized his faded Hawthorne Heights shirt, frighteningly darked in the brightness of the corridor, and of course, the skulls tattooed on his sneakers. And a girl, with coiled blonde hair and her pink-painted lips pressed against his. Something stopped inside me, like my heart had ceased beating. When Fang looked at me with his dark, beautiful eyes that were as darkened as the night sky; they widened with a blackened horror, and my heart crashed harder at the girl's cherry-print hair clips that definied the supposed perfection of _Lavender Brown_.

Fang's mouth breathed, '_shit_' with a thousand unspoken words, and I felt like I had never wanted to hit anything harder, never wanted to scream as loudly, or cry as much as I ever had. I underestimated Lavender Brown, like I promised I wouldn't. I turned, so gracefully fast it was like my wings had opened like an angel's ready to take flight.

'Max!'

I thought I had hated people before. I was wrong.

_This _was hatred.

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**Fang P.O.V:**

I pushed Lavender off me. I suddenly saw Max, looking absolutely beautiful, her ash-blonde hair falling in a plait entwined with turquoise ribbons, so she looked like an angel fallen from heaven, ready to dispatch divine justice from on high, like I read that angels were supposed to with their flaming arrows. My eyes widened in horror as I saw the tears threatening to spill from her brown eyes, and the way she held her red-lipped mouth that made me think she was beyond words, impossible to be spoken but all imaginative. A thousand unsaid words poured from my own mouth in a single syllable. _Shit. _

Max looked like she had never wanted to hit anyone harder, never wanted to scream loudly, or cry as much as she ever had. She turned and ran, looking so deceptively graceful and as untouchable as a treasured object, like she had opened her wings to take flight, as she ran like a lightning strike ... the way she had looked at me, she'd never looked at me like that - hurt and betrayed and angry ... like any trust she'd ever had in me had crashed and burned. She'd looked at me like she hated me.

Like she had thought she had hated people before, but she had been wrong. Like she had only really discovered hatred in that heartstopping instance, and it was directed at me. Max would never speak to me again. I had been like her brother, and then her boyfriend. I loved her and now she would always look at me like I was a wad of bubblegum on the bottom of her shoe, a spider in her pink-laced high-tops. Now I was the flea in her soup, the eyelash in her eye. I was a _mistake_. I called her name, and she didn't even glance back. I rounded on Lavender, who looked unspeakably pleased with herself.

'What the _hell is wrong with you?_' I shouted, anger flaring. 'She's the best thing that ever happened to me, and you _just ruined it_!'

Because Max had never looked at anyone like that before. I never thought that, when the time came, it would be me.

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**Max P.O.V:**

_Once,_ I fell in love. I never expected to fall in love with someone.

I never expected to fall in love with Fang.

And then I discovered that love was like a rainbow; impossibly beautiful while it lasted, and then it faded away like it never existed.

Once, I discovered one thing: love sucked.

Buy a dog.

Oh, wait.

I already had one.

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**11:59 pm**

**Angel P.O.V: **

Something was wrong.

So impossibly wrong between Max and Fang, like true love had faded. Max was sitting alone in the darkness, her pink-laced hightops the only bright flash of colour in the blackness of the dimly-lit castle, like a neon light in the long grasses. Fang wasn't beside her, holding her hand, the exact shade of the night sky so he looked like a missing shadow in the darkness, so you'd assume Max was laughing at nobody, looking at someone invisible. He was away, glaring at the stars above like he was cursing someone.

They weren't speaking and neither were thinking any heartbroken, or angry thoughts that even mentioned a hint of the other's existence. Nobody had dared ask - the gleaming in Max's eyes made them look a brilliant colour, but frightening. I closed my eyes, and wished for a miracle. Only miracles don't come true if you don't deserve them.

I wished for a miracle for Max and Fang, if anyone deserved good luck, it was them. I opened them, and saw a gleam of pearly-white in the distance, Dumbledore's light footsteps the only sound in the silence. He took my hand, and in a heartstopping instance, all I could hear was the wind in my ears, like the ocean against the shore, blinding swirl of colours, as I disappeared into nothingness.

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**Max P.O.V:**

Where we arrived, it was daybreak, the brightest gleam of morning light. It was beautiful here, as beautiful as I had dreamed; only better because it wasn't a figment of my imagination. And the people in front of me were indescribably beautiful as well; so pretty they didn't seem real, all impossibly glowing, like a star. I realized it was the Cullens, shining like diamonds in the sunlight. I thought of Fang, and that kiss between him and another girl, and felt my heart pang and get caught in my throat, like I couldn't breathe.

Alice stepped towards me, and I realized she must've seen everything; because her beautiful face was twisted and her amber eyes dark and sad, like golden gemstones against her pale, wintery, porcelain skin. I felt her cold arms hugging me, and realized that this was how she was saying how sorry she was for what had happened. I knew it must look unusual, but Alice was like the older sister I never had, even though I didn't know her that well. The one who took care of me, instead of the other way around. And suddenly, everything - well, it wasn't OK, I doubt anything would ever be OK again, but the world seemed a little better.

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**A/N: Hello! I'm very sorry this is so late, obviously I'm incapable of managing two stories at once, as well as over eight assingments. I've decided to dedicate my time solely to finishing this story. Also, I would like to say a thank you to every single one of you who reviewed, I love you all, and all the reviews give me excellent feedback and make me extremely happy. I'm very grateful I've reached over 200 reviews, and I would especially, if possible, like to make it to 250 by the time this story ends. So everyone who has stuck with me along the way, thanks so much. You all make my day and I hope you like this chapter. And if anyone had a suitable revenge for Lavender, please tell me! :) - Emma **


	24. You Feel So Tired, But You Can't Sleep

**You Feel So Tired, But You Can't Sleep**

**Max P.O.V:**

_Alice was like the older sister I never had, even though I didn't know her that well. The one who took care of me, instead of the other way around. And suddenly, everything - well, it wasn't OK, I doubt anything would ever be OK again, but the world seemed a little better._

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We were in a clearing; as big as a baseball field, surrounded by autumn-tinted cedar trees rippling the soft breeze, looking spectacular and bright against the pale blue sky, emitting the scent of dewy leaves that smelt like tangy sap and the smell of the ground after it rains, fresh and misty. The ground was reddish dirt and smelt like desert sand and some sort of musty flower even though the clearing was empty of flowers. The Cullens stood in the middle, the sunlight dancing off their skin in a rainbow haze, and the flock looked mesmerized at the diamonds.

The sky looked a darkish blue, with grey undertones even though there was still sun radiating from the light coat of clouds. It was probably early morning. Then, one by one, people began Apparating into the clearing, all appearing gracefully as doll figurines and the Cullen's brilliant golden eyes observed their elegance with a touch of interest, but definietly not surprise. Neither Hermione, Ron nor Ginny looked very alarmed, not even when a witch with shockingly pink hair broke the perfect formation and stumbled.

A circle came round the brilliantly sparkling vampires, all still looking undeterred, except for Renesmee, whose beautiful chocolate-milk eyes shone with blatant delight, her bronze ringlets shimmering faintly in the soft light. And Emmett, who was smiling, showing off his dimples - how did a man made out of marble have _dimples_ when he smiled? However, all of the witches and wizards looked shocked at the sparkling creatures in front of them.

There was a line of them, Emmett, Rosalie, Edward, Renesmee, Bella, Esme, Carlisle and Jasper. Alice's porcelain fingers were lightly touching my shoulder, her skin gleaming like diamonds, her topaz jewel-like eyes observing silently and Jasper in turn, was watching her fondly, his own butterscotch eyes narrowed beautifully, yet fiercely.

Carlisle spoke first - his pale golden hair looked the colour of sunlight, stepping forwards elegantly, but with precise carefulness; Jasper a little behind, radiating calmness like he just couldn't help it. A breath of fresh air filled my lungs. I don't think, in a dream-like state or not, I have ever been thankful for Jasper's peculiar gift.

'Welcome,' Carlisle said, and I could see almost everyone was struck by his bewilderingly seductive, melodic voice that was nearly as velvety as Edwards, 'I'm Carlisle; and this is my family - my wife, Esme -' Esme's caramel-coloured hair looked spectacular, a very soft curling, and again I was reminded of the silent-movie era, '- my son Emmett and his wife Rosalie - ' Rosalie still looked unruffled; her golden-blonde hair falling in elegant waves, an old master's dream of perfection, and Emmett's surprisingly cute dimples became more pronounced as he grinned, twirling a coil of his wife's blonde hair around his finger.

'My son Edward, his wife Bella and their daughter Renesmee -' Edward and Bella smiled beautifully; the redness in her mahogany, gleaming hair was more noticeable in the sunlight and Edward's bronze hair looked perfectly imperfect as always, like it fell like that on purpose, 'and my daughter Alice and her husband Jasper.' Suddenly, the wolves came at the edge of the forest in their beautiful woodsy colours, lusterous shades of woodlands - I regonized Jacob's brilliant mahogany colour, almost the exact shade of Bella's hair, but it reminded me of an oak tree. There was a slightly smaller wolf that was noticable, a shimmering pearly-greyish colour and distinctly female by the elegance in which she walked.

The flock inhaled - I knew they were thinking of Erasers. Fists curled, teeth clenched. The wolves went behind trees, and came in as (clothed) people with gorgeous russet skin tones and gleaming dark hair, clearly of native Indian descent. There was indeed a female, as pretty as Alice or Esme, but in a very different way. Her hair looked like crow feathers and sweeping eyelashes like butterfly wings over her big, dark eyes.

Her skin was perfectly like russet silk, a tanned complexion but the way she held her red-lipped mouth made me think she was angry. The flock exhaled, noticing the difference between the supermodel lookalike Erasers and the careful similarities of Jacob - and Sam's - packs.

'This is Jacob's pack: Leah and Seth Clearwater, Quil Ateara and Embry Call.' Jacob came and picked up Renesmee, stroking her bronze, subtly shimmering ringlets so they rustled like leaves - in turn, she placed her creamy ivory hand on his face. 'And Sam's pack: Paul, Colin, Brady and Jared.'

'Thank you,' Dumbledore said formally, 'this is the Order of the Phoenix.' He began introducing them; none of them looked shocked at the proclaimation of vampires. All I noticed was that the woman with the startingly bright pink hair was called Nymphadora Tonks, like a water fairy or a mermaid, before noticing that the Cullen's brilliant golden eyes were gleaming dully - Alice must've envisioned us and the Cullen's had a flawless, absoluely perfect recall, to remember who was who. They weren't listening.

I also noticed that Alice went on fluttering tiptoe like a pixie to whisper in Jasper's ear; his golden eyes narrowed further, and although his beauty was evident he looked almost beatific from the way his honey-blonde hair ruffled in the slight breeze and the crescent-moon scars on his skin that looked nearly pearly. When he frowned, one of the silvery-pale marks was especially prominent.

Quirky Alice carassed his face quickly but adoringly, and Jasper forced a smile. Who peed in his glass of AB positive? Edward snickered. Bella raised her perfect eyebrows, but Edward shook his bronze locks, a smile creeping. Dumbledore finished introducing, but the flock still looked puzzled at The Order, except Angel. Edward was looking at her in bemusement - had they been communicating through their minds?

'Vampires tend to sparkle in the sunlight, rather than become a smoldering pile of charred ashes,' Edward said in his beautiful, velvety voice, and I was faintly mesmerized. The sound of his voice was so smooth compared to the pulse of the rushing water twining through the woodlands in an icy, rippling slash. The Cullen's blinked at him with their brilliant golden eyes and Jacob's eyes, as dark as onyx gemstones, rolled like marbles.

'I know,' Nudge said faintly, looking mesmerized as well. I saw her looking at the sparkles dancing on their porcelain skin, casting rainbows in the light like some clear crystal with a million facets - like the heart-shaped jewel Bella wore around her wrist that glittered almost as deeply as her skin. She wasn't afraid. She already knew about vampires. It was just seeing their inhuman beauty in its true form that made it impossible to believe yet her imagination wasn't playing tricks on her now.

I remember how excited she'd been - how she'd known Alice couldn't tell the difference between antique white and corn-silk Grant Satin-peep-toe Jimmy Choo shoes in a single glance without some kind of supernatural assistance. I remembered how Iggy and the Gasman had asked about burning crosses etched into the palms of their hands and did they sleep in oak coffins or ash coffins or deluxe mahogany with purple satin lining? How Angel wanted to write 'I RUN WITH VAMPIRES' on the soles of my high-tops in sharpie. And Fang had - no. I didn't want to think about Fang.

The Cullens lead everyone to their home. It was beautiful with an old-fashioned grace; timeless and painted a soft, faded white. There was a porch surrounded by faded hydrangea blossoms in a soft, dappled pink rippling in the breeze, overlooking the forest of cedar trees shining with spiky autumn-coloured leaves of reddish brown and bits of orange in the sunlight.

As Carlisle walked up the porch steps, I heard a man with dark skin, with broad shoulders speak to Dumbledore in a low, deep voice that was strangely mellow. I could barely hear it, but by the way I saw Rosalie's golden eyes flash knowingly, and Jacob's black shaggy hair rustle like crow feathers in the wind as his head turned, I knew they could hear every word without breaking a sparkle. Because vampires don't perspire, they glisten.

'I thought you were joking, Dumbledore,' the man - Kingsley Shacklebolt? - said.

Dumbledore's crystal blue eyes gleamed like he was X-raying Kingsley. I thought I saw Bella's red lips open in surprise, as Dumbledore replied silently, but it sounded like an icicle breaking. 'I hardly ever lie.' _Hardly ever, _two little words than can either mean something good or bad. Dumbledore's "hardly ever" send chills icing their way through my spine. Vampire heads, ridiculously pretty heads, turned like frozen porcelain statues; topaz eyes gleaming as they all looked at him simultaneously. It was creepy how perfectly in sync they were.

Thankfully, Carlisle kept walking like nothing had happened, as he passed the front door, which was made out of a polished wood and carved with ornate designs. Along the maple-wood porch to another clearing. This one was exquisite, beautiful as that baseball field. It too, was surrounded by autumn-leafed trees rippling in the wind, emitting the intoxicating scents of sweet, tangy pine sap and the freshness of the river trickling and entwining through the forest, the slash of blue ribbon that seemed louder here, the sound of rushing water.

There was another house, not as gracefully old-fashioned as the Cullen's classically designed home, but it had a modern edge. It was all beautifully proportioned and looked like the black fairytale version of a princess's tower, all carved, elegant black woodwork. Not like Snow White would come with a basket of apples, or a unicorn would come to nibble on the rose bushes, but like the Wicked Witch of the West's castle got a makeover by vampires who put in some shimmering glass and modern-day decorations and made it look like it belonged in a home 'n' living magazine. It was so pretty it almost hurt to look at. Many jaws dropped.

'This is the house we built for you all,' Carlisle said, 'we have some immortal vampires willing to fight, and some of them drink ... human blood.' The woman with the shockingly pink hair in a spiky disarray -Nymphadora - suppress a delicate shudder and another woman with hair in tumbling black curls pressed her lips together. I saw that the werewolves were looking at Remus with their onyx gemstones eyes that were as big as a dark moon or black marble dinner plates, or a snooker ball. The gleaming underlined their curiousity, the blank stares meaning that they knew exactly what Remus was - a full moon werewolf, not just a shape-shifting oversized dog like them. 'It has 60 bedrooms, 10 are for two.' Holy crap on a cracker. How did Carlisle fit 60 bedrooms? Unless there was a bunk bed in a laundry cupboard or something.

'The house is divided,' Edward said, 'like townhouses, only male and female separate buildings - almost like units. Half is for males, half is for females. Bunking complications, you see.' He said this matter-of-factly; and everyone murmured agreeably, bewildered, almost stunned at the blatant consideration ... I remembered the never-ending, eternal argument Iggy and I held for who left the toilet seat up.

'Lovely,' Nymphadora muttered, and her shockingly bright pink hair turned a vivid shade of violet. Her pink hair had been in an elegant, spiky disarray like Alice's, but not as edgy (well, as edgy as a pixie-shaped vampire in breezy ruffled pastels could be), but now the violet hung shoulder-length in loose curls. It was a stunning shade, almost to bright to look at without flinching. In the blink of an eye, it was different. Um. And _purple_. I wondered if Nymphadora - her name was so ridiculously fancy and mermaid-like she had to have a nickname like "Dora" - was simply unique, or she was some sort of master of disguise to change her appearance at will.

'Tonks,' Lupin said in a mild reproof, and it took me a second to realize he meant Nymphadora. Carlisle smiled and used a shiny silver key to unlock the beautifully carved doors of this black, fairytale-type house.

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An hour later, Carlisle, Esme, Dumbledore and all the Order of the Phoenix had hidden away in the Cullen's house, while the other vampires and Jacob were sweetly (and failing) to socialize with the flock. Nudge had some metallic substance that looked like a ruined paperclip that she was contorting into unusual shapes: a four-leafed clover, a lightning bolt, a heart, a diamond - like Lucky Charms marshmallow cereal pieces. It was Renesmee who broke the icy silence - she could melt the coldest of hearts, and everyone graviated around her like she was a radiant planet and they were serene satellites.

She put her subtly luminous - it glowed even in the light shade - hand on Nudge's darker skin that was the colour of chocolate or rosewood. Nudge smiled at her - I watched as the metal piece folded in on itself like a mirror image, or an optical illusion and finished in a quirky wolf paw-print. Everyone started laughing - Alice's tinkling wind-chime laugh was prominent, and Emmett's bear-like, loud laughter; though Edward's musical tone sounded frosty, and albeit a little forced.

Jacob had a warm laugh, like sunshine glowing from the inside out as he picked up Renesmee like she was a china doll: exquisite and breakable. He treated her like she would shatter into a million pieces because she was as fragile as a mirror, or a porcelain ornament - Jake loved Renesmee, and I knew one day she would be his (Bella had filled me in about "imprinting" while Edward's pearly teeth glinted menancingly at the thought that his little girl would grow up to fall in love with a wolf) but he looked at her with so much devotion in his eyes that it was easy to see he'd jump off a cliff to save her life. I got the feeling he was supposed to be in the "meeting", but couldn't stand being away from Nessie that long. And, within minutes, the Cullens and the flock had bonded into a BFF-type glow.

Angel and Edward were playing chess: an expensive chessboard between them, Edward's brilliant golden eyes staring into Angel's spectacular azure ones as they played the game in their minds, their hands darting out to move the chesspieces quickly and gracefully, looking quite odd with Edward's porcelain, ice-cold hands and then Angel's small fingers with delicate nails like shells, painted a soft pink. Sometimes the pawns moved further than they should, or a queen took out a castle at the wrong time because in their minds, the minisucle, intricately carved statues had moved five squares already.

It was a draw: Edward saw Angel's blossoming idea of manipulation/cheating in the instance that it took her heart to beat so Angel simply penetrated his thoughts as easily as drawing cards from a deck. Eventually, Angel tried to teach Edward how to send thoughts whilst being fascinated at Bella's mind that was unreadable as a glassy pool with shadows on the surface. Nessie and Jake were on the side, Renesmee looked captivated, but Jacob looked like he was suppressing laughter at little Angel, with her golden curls and big blue eyes teaching an 100-plus-year-old-vampire how to manipulate minds.

Iggy and Nudge were talking to Jasper, Alice and Rosalie. Nudge and Jazz were comparing how they sensed emotions: Jasper was saying how he could feel emotional atmosphere, like he was tasting it as if it was a flavour or a scent on his tongue; a kind of tenor of emotion that he was able to sway the emotions to whatever he desired it to be.

For instance, you could be seething with uncontrollable rage, yet he would make you calm. You could be annoyed by the swift change of emotions, but not be able to feel the annoyance whilst your system was riddled with something that you could not satisfy, or stop, yourself. You couldn't command yourself to change your mood, but you couldn't attack Jasper either.

He said had to been horrible to feel the fear striking like knives at his prey's beating hearts, how the sound was appealing and the scent intoxicating when the sense of being frightened went over them in a cold sweat, and how he felt their agony when he bit into them, how they could sense the blood gushing from their wounds, their jolt when they noticed the salt and rust scent, less defined to them. I think he accidentally went too far explaining why he didn't want to be a monster who drank human blood, because I was nearly breaking out in chills listening to his melodic, harsh voice, and Alice shook him out of it by giving her tinkling wind-chime laugh. 'Jazzy,' she smiled.

Jasper quickly finished up with his happy ending of meeting the love of his existence, Ali, and he turned it into a tranquil, unperturbed atmopshere that was easy to relax in. Jasper was one of those people who surprised you, you thought you knew what you were getting with his beautiful, quiet, honey-blonde looks and "soulful" demeanour, but you were always wrong. It was fascinating, in an unnatural, completely creepy way, to see exactly how Jasper's mind worked. Jazz lapsed into thoughtful silence, and Nudge began talking to Ali and Rosalie if glitter was acceptable for anything but Dolce & Gabbana cherry red platforms or the Oscars.

Gaz, Ig and Emmett were discussing pyromania. Gaz had taught Emmett how to make explosive cocktails with muriatic acid and a glass coke bottle, now how to blow up 90s car model without striking a match. Emmett was laughing - I remembered the flawless recall of any vampire, how any explosive cocktail Emmett made would be undoubtably perfect on first attempt; and be able to blow up a marble palace by conveniently placing the bomb in the room filled with gold crowns and priceless jewels that would melt under the unbelievable heat.

I cursed the day I got Iggy fuse wires for his robotic "electronic heart" experiment. The "heart" was actually a bomb that nearly caused an avalanche one autumn. From the frightening, heart-stopping second of that colossal explosion and the fire that flickered on the pines, I had vowed I would never, never, never to give Iggy so much as a stick of grape-flavoured bubblegum. Esme came in with a tray of chocolate-chip cookies that reminded me - not heartbreakingly, but slightly painfully, of Mom. Esme's cookies were incredible, the sweetest hint of vanilla on the tip of your tongue, the way the chocolate chips were half melted. Angel hugged her round the middle as the flock devoured her cookies.

The flock instantly loved the Cullens, and the Cullens loved them. They were enjoying themselves - all but one.

Emmett put in the XBox 360 and began teaching Angel how to cheat at _Halo_. Angel, with her ironically "angelic" expression looked especially odd - like a princess in glass slippers kicking a football. Everyone was watching; Em, Jazz and Angel playing _Halo_. Unsurprisingly, Angel was winning: she could win at poker blindfolded, that girl. Jasper and Emmett looked perturbed, but Alice was releasing her tinkling laughter seventhfold - she must've forseen something that made her act very, well, _Alice_-_like_.

That word was only for her - you couldn't act like Alice, no matter how hard you tried, she was distinctive and unforgettable and unique. Maybe that was the way she liked it. While Em and Jazz looked uncomfortable, Rosalie flashed a stunning, dazzling smile, automatically thawing out her permafrost, ict expression and then Emmett cursed - but very quietly. 'What does "crap" mean?' Renesmee asked, fluttering her eyelashes like the wings of a butterfly, and Edward gave Em a death glare, his golden eyes narrowing in this hell-scary way.

I was sure Nessie knew what "crap" meant. Angel knew much worse than "crap", along with some gothic chanting she'd learnt at a gypsy fair we once visited, thanks to one of the psychotic psychics who kept trying to give us protective talismans with fake jewels; as well as some things Fang or Ig or I had spilled in moments of pain/anger that we'd gotten from scientists who were (in turn) pained/angry. Emmett stared at Renesmee, his topaz eyes shocked and unblinking. Then he burst out laughing.

'Well played, Ness,' Emmett sounded as proud as can be, 'I taught you well.' He picked her from Jacob's lap and swung her in circles, her bronze ringlets, the same stunning, beautiful shade as Edward's whirling as she spun looking like the perfect figurine in a snowglobe, only that Emmett was swinging her like she was a rag doll. Her ruffled her hair and put her back down in Jacob's lap. She looked dizzy, but managed to flash an equally spectacular smile to Rosalie's at him before settling herself more comfortably in Jake's embrace. He was her big brother, her best friend. For now.

Em, Jazz and Ange moved onto Grand Theft Auto - trust Emmett to have that on an XBox 360 - when I felt the prescence of a darkened shadow behind me, like a ghost you can't see in the light, touch my shoulder with cool fingers. I thought it was Alice, the touch was so impossibly weightless, such as a feather or a drifting leaf, until I realized Alice doesn't creep like a blackened figure pressed against a dark surface, she dances in with her graceful quirkiness.

Only one person walked like that. I whirled, and nearly decked Fang, but I didn't want to get blood on the Cullen's flawlessly elegant white carpet and disappoint Esme. He was the bloody last person who I wanted to get near me - now I know where Angel gets her swearing from, reading minds -, and I glared at him. 'Can we talk?' Um. Usually I liked that: short, simple, to the point, but now I wanted nothing more than to get away from him like he carried the plague.

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**Edward P.O.V: **

_Grand Theft Auto - trust Emmett to have that on an XBox 360._

I almost laughed at Max's thoughts. How right she was. She saw things differently from other people: like she had her own brilliant, unusual way of looking at the world and didn't care if anyone else thought that her perspective was odd. Because looking at the world through her own glass window was how she liked it. It was mesmerzing, stunning and surprising listening to her thoughts; but in a good way.

She, above all things, _amused _me like some bizarre sitcom, with her quirky, clever thoughts. Her thoughts weren't shallow or superficial; they were raw, honest, heartbreaking and the most interesting I had ever listened to. Unlike other mortals, I liked hearing what she had to say - or think.

_I nearly decked Fang, but I didn't want to get blood on the Cullen's flawlessly elegant white carpet and disappoint Esme. _

Strange. Violent, yet ... sweet. She didn't want to disappoint Esme by spilling blood on her "flawlessly elegant" carpet, but not worried that the intoxicating scent of the droplets of blood might make the vampires ravenous - especially Jasper. I remembered him leaping at Bella; teeth gleaming in a rippling, feral snarl; topaz eyes shining at the scent of her beautiful, inviting blood.

I felt guilty then; I'd forgiven him - Bella, my precious Bella, was surely as immune as Carlisle at the scent of blood, fresh blood, bright red, spilling over from wounds and the waves it emanated from humans like a delicious perfume - no. Stop. I had near-perfected my bloodlust of humans, but that did not mean I still didn't fantasize. Bella as a human had made it easier: resisting the wine while appreciating the bouquet. It was good that I did not feast upon birds of any kind; but that animalistic scent did bring a slightly appealing flavour on the tip of my tongue.

Temptation. Always temptation. Reined in, never unleashed, eternally kept within its cage from that monstrosity of wanting to drink human blood.

I would never be that monster.

_'Can we talk?' Um. Usually I liked that: short, simple, to the point, but now I wanted nothing more than to get away from him like he carried the plague._

Like Max, I felt impatient. Why won't this boy - Fang - leave her alone? I tried listening to his thoughts and got ... nothing. Utter darkness; his mind was a book with hollowed, empty pages flicking through, not even a whisper drifting past; his mind seemed - dead filled with blackness as dark as the boy's eyes.

It infuriated me - never since my Bella had I not be able to hear someone's passing thoughts filtering quickly through their mind like a speeding train, yet here was this boy, Fang, as silent as a grave. Yet unlike Bella, I was angered for another reason. Not angry because Fang smelt appealing - in fact, the child smelt like autumn leaves and sunshine and dirt, not disgusting, but not very tasteful - but I was angry _for _someone else. Max.

Something triggered my mind; a faintest glimmer, a spark of electricity; that allowed me a glimpse into the boy's mind which was as eerily silent as a still night of nothing but the moon and the stars. Three words, filled with such desperation and determination and sadness it rocked me to my unbeating heart.

_Please say yes._

I wished I could make Max say what he wanted to hear more than anything else in the world in that moment. She was the closest person to his heart; whether or not she knew it; and you didn't have to be a mind-reader to see he cared about her like nobody else, not even his whole family. Fang wished she didn't hate him as much as she did. Hatred was written all over Max's face. No, not hatred. Disgust: pure, unalterated disgust. I wished she would say that one small word. Yes. _Say it, Max,_ I willed her, _say it._

But at the same time, I kind of wanted her to deck him.

I think I could give Jasper enough time to run a couple of hundred metres.

'Whatever,' Max said coldly. I suppressed laughter. It wasn't a "yes", but a "whatever" was better than nothing at all. I listened to their conversation. I think my Bella knew, because she rolled her spectacular golden eyes expressively and said, "at least it isn't unfair dazzling skills" under her breath. Her tone rang and shimmered like a bell. I smiled.

**A/N: In this, Max's thoughts are in bold, and Fang's are underlined.** **Edward's own are in normal font. **

_'Max,' Fang said, 'I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.'_ More than you know.

_Max was uncharateristically quiet._ **Jackass ...** '_But I didn't mean to kiss her,' Fang said intensely, 'in fact, she kissed me! I know it must've looked like I'd ripped out Sleeping Beauty's golden locks; or ruined a priceless piece of art, or poisoned Dorthy's ruby red slippers, or punched a Girl Scout ...' _**Asshat ... **'_Or took candy from a baby, or stole from an old lady's purse, like a fairytale had crash-landed and become your worst nightmare..." _

**Asspie ...** '_But, Max, you know I care about you too much to do something like that, with Lavender Brown of all people! Can't you see I would never, ever, willingly hurt you like that? You mean everything - everything! - to me. God knows I never show it, or say it, but how can you ever believe I'd betray your trust like that? _**Dumbass ... **_'I'm not lying, or pretending, or making anything up. It looked like I had been lying from the very first time I kissed you but can't you tell how sorry I am?' _

As far as apologies went, Fang's was - well - excellent.

_'I can't believe you would think something like that. I thought you weren't a dumb blonde. Actually smart.' _I think Rosalie heard that; because her ruby-red, gleaming lips pressed together frostily and a hiss escaped in a perfect snarl. Angel must've read his thoughts; because her golden ringlets quivered indignantly. Good one; he really was - for use of crude terms - a undeniable and eternal jackass. He said the wrong thing. Wrong move on the chessboard of life, but thanks for playing, have a nice day failing at everything until the day you die.

_'You don't really care, do you? You never cared. What the hell is wrong with you!?'_ _Max's voice was like a shattering icicle, 'Because BLONDES ARE NOT DUMB.' _She was screaming now.

I didn't mean that. Stupid, stupid, stupid! 

_'Max, I - I - I, didn't mean ...'_

_'Fuck you,' Max spat. _Her beautiful wings released, and she flew off into the glorious sunset like an avenging angel dispatching divine justice. Higher she flew above the twisting forest, until she was a darkened speck in the distance. I could see her through Fang's eyes; a beautiful figure who had just been stabbed in her heart - again, and hated him all the more for being the person who reopened the wound she was just beginning to close. After he destroyed it, completely, utterly, and it would take a long, long time for her to even plant a seed of trust in her head. He was - in a manner of speaking - dead to her.

And I didn't blame Max one little bit.

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**Max P.O.V:**

So now I guess I know where Angel gets her cursing from.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

Two hours later, I flew back. Dumbledore was sitting, drinking strawberry herbal tea from a teacup (I didn't realize vampires collected willow-patterned, antique teasets), alone. He was gazing off into space, even though there was a magazine of Christmas knitting patterns on his lap and his golden half-moon spectacles were perched precariously but somehow, like, majestically, on his nose. 'Sir?' I said edgily, and the only reply was his silvery beard twitching amicably. I hoped he didn't hear my cussing - swearing in front of Dumbledore seemed almost sinful, and I could just imagine Esme, and her beautiful, motherly personality flinching at my choice of words, her brilliant golden eyes disappointed.

'Alice has forseen what the future holds for us,' Dumbledore said peacefully, 'they are all awaiting the other vampires. Who should reach those hydranga blooms on the porch when the sun reaches the middle of the sky. Noon, twelve midday, exactly. Which, according to Alice, should be in five minutes. You are very welcome to join them. They wish to speak with you about what to do about Harry Potter. And Alice's premonition of the forecoming battle.'

More vampires? Harry's rescue? **Battle?**

'Oh my God,' I said faintly, 'I think I need to sit down.'

'That might be a good idea, Maximum,' Dumbledore agreed cheerfully.

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**A/N: This was just a filler chapter. Is anyone interested in imprinting? I was thinking one of the werewolves (Seth? Leah? Embry?) could imprint on someone (One of the flock/Order?) Or maybe one of the vamps with someone from the flock/Order? What do you think? - Emma. **


	25. Standing Out Is Better Than Fitting In

**A/N: The Order of the Phoenix: Albus Dumbledore, Mad Eye Moody, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Andromeda Tonks, Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Fred and George Weasley, Fleur Delacour, Rubeus Hagrid, Elphias Dodge, Emmeline Vance, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Aberforth Dumbledore, Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones, Augusta Longbottom and Sturgis Podmore; as well as Ron, Hermione and Ginny. **

**The vampires: The Olympic Coven (Edward, Bella, Carlisle, Esme, Alice, Jasper, Rosalie, Emmett and Renesmee Cullen/Hale), The Amazon Coven (Kachiri, Senna and Zafrina), The Denali Coven (Eleazar, Carmen, Kate, Garrett and Tanya), The Egyptian Coven (Amun, Kebi, Benjamin and Tia), The Irish Coven (Siobhan, Maggie and Liam), The Romanian Coven (Stefan and Vladimir), The American Nomads (Peter and Charlotte) and the European Nomad/s (Alistar).**

**The wolves: (Jake's pack): Jacob Black, Quil Atera, Embry Call, Leah and Seth Clearwater, (Sam's pack) Sam, Jared, Paul, Colin and Brady. **

* * *

**Standing Out Is Better Than Fitting In: **

**Max P.O.V:**

15 minutes later, a cup of strawberry herbal tea, and I had gone to the porch. The hydrangeas were still rippling in the breeze; petals falling in a haze of dappled pink and it was near twilight; everything was cast in a brilliant, deep blue shade. The Order was closest to the timeless, faded white house: I recognized Fleur's sheet of opaque, silvery hair, it was stunning - she was clearly as beautiful as Bella or Alice. Probably only in a different way.

There were the wolves dotted amongst them; they looked so similar with their black disarrays of hair, not halo-like, but like crow-feathers gleaming as moonlight lit the sky, their brown eyes wide.

The Cullens were at the front, Carlisle's pale blonde head clear as a signal in the almost darkness. I weaved through, to be next to Jacob, with Renesmee perched on his shoulder like some beautiful, elegant bird. She tugged his hair, and like a ballerina floating from a graceful leap, she jumped down, landing lightly - and totally perfectly - on her feet.

'Hi,' she whispered and took my hand in her porcelain, shimmering one - how did in near darkness did her skin manage to glow? I squeezed her hand softly, and waited with bated breath as I saw a jolt of strawberry-blonde amongst the trees.

* * *

**Edward P.O.V:**

I saw a jolt of strawberry-blonde locks as Tanya emerged. She was clearly beautiful, but nothing compared to Bella. Max's brown eyes, the colour of chocolate, a darker shade than Nessie's, were locked against the colour that was bright against the leafy green trees. As Tanya appeared, Max's eyes narrowed as she took in Tanya and the following vampires, noticing their similar golden eyes.

But then came the human blood-drinkers; and almost everyone's thoughts were unnaturally stunned, albeit slightly frightened, at the bright, blood red orbs that were sinister and wheeled like cue balls only scarlet. Most were silently screaming in their heads, but Max's thoughts were like the beach on a cool summer night; calm as the waves lapped at the shore. _It's okay. They won't hurt us. And Edward would know if they were going to. _

There was an unusual pause in her thoughts as Max's lips etched in a small smile. _Isn't that right, Edward? _I lifted my head skyward, gazing at the brilliant, deep blue sky - it was near twilight where the sun disappeared from the earth - and then back at Tanya's coven, smiling. Only Max would know I was nodding. She grinned, but her grin almost immediately faded.

_Good. _For the first time, our friends looked apprehensive. Like they thought they might be tempted by the intoxicating scent coming off the human's skin in the most appealing way; yet all had promised they would not drink, and would be far away when they hunted. There was now 28 (and a half) vampires, most drank human blood, and here were thirty targets ready and waiting on our front porch.

The vampire's thoughts wheeled wildly, out of control, cut off in random places.

The "vegetarians" were complacent and somewhat bored. Most were smelling the air, reeling in the scents of vanilla and lime and soap and how tempting their blood was. How much they wanted to drink, but couldn't bear to. Some were acknowledging that the flock smelt like humans, only with a manipulated flavour to their scents, almost animalistic. All of them didn't want to betray Carlisle.

'Welcome,' Carlisle's voice was even. Zafrina, in her leather skins, took a step forward, dancer footsteps like a lion circling its prey. Her footsteps didn't make a sound and she walked almost on the points of her feet like a ballerina, only there was something more animalistic about her movements. She was trying not to look jerky, and she was, well, failing.

'Carlisle,' Zafrina said carefully.

* * *

**One week later ...**

**Max P.O.V:**

'Capture the illusion, Angel. Make it what you want it to be.'

'I can't, Zafrina, I just _can't_.'

'See anything, Max?' Zafrina said, her scarlet eyes, the colour of a pool of blood, looking at me like red beams. I shook my head - I wasn't seeing anything I shouldn't: nothing but the sweeping cedar trees and a jag of the river rippling past. I could see the blue-grey sky just before it rains, and the vampires lingering by the trees, picking the petals off the hydrangea blooms, lounging on the porch. Most of them had gotten on well with the witches and wizards: I think they were fascinated with the thought of real magic, after many centuries of not being sure if it was real or not.

Kate and Fang were working with electricity and invisibilty, to see if they could make a transparent field with nooks and crannies of electrical current: it was possible, according to Kate, but difficult to form a barrier using transparency combined with a solid energy. Kate's current was invisible also, so she thought it might be naturally possible to make something that you couldn't see, but feel.

Jasper was teaching Nudge to manipulate emotions: together, they would be an unstoppable force, able to change emotions into whatever they wished: make them feel calm instead of murderous, unpredictably lulled into a sense of unconscienceness - not quite sleep, but enough to make them feel powerless.

Yesterday, Tonks had tried teaching Angel into transforming into something other than her blue bird of paradise and Benjamin had tried to teach Nudge into moving things other than other metallic substance, such as earth minerals containing metals such as iron or copper inlaid into the ground, to see if she could transform them into small things, holes, cracks in the forest floor.

The day before, Bella had tried teaching Fang into extending his transparency into a force as strong as her shield and now the witches and wizards were showing the other vampires on their magical capabilities, and how they could be useful combined with the vampire's gifts.

Zafrina was teaching Angel on conjuring illusions, trying to show her how to capture an image and make it be as real as a "sunset on the horizon, or a rainbow in the distance", and all she had to do was focus on what she wanted, and make it blossom. Apparently Angel being able to make people do what she want, as well as become whatever she desired, like the blue bird of paradise, was a sign she could probably conjure illusions if she tried hard enough.

Trying too hard could kill her, Zafrina had declared, but if she concentrated enough, she would be able to make a slightly less powerful imitation of Zafrina's illusions. I was there to see anything Angel could conjure with her mind.

'Now?'

She conjured an illusion, simply of a rainforest, curling vines like poisnously green snakes, canopies flecked with dew, and I could even see a spider web glittering between two jungle trees. It was indescribably beautiful, and felt as real as the grass strands I could feel on my barefeet, the scent of the tangy scent of pine sap I could smell, and it was like spider would appear at any moment of the web, if Zafrina wished. The meadow she had conjured in my dreams was just as real as this.

'Yes.' Angel sighed.

'That was Angel and I conjuring an illusion together. Angel made the spider-web, did you see that between the jungle trees? How it glittered with droplets of dew, and it was like a spider would appear magically at any moment?' I nodded warily. Zafrina whirled on Angel - her movements were unnaturally jerky, not as smooth as Alice's grace. It was unnerving, but I was getting used to it. 'See? All you have to do is _concentrate_. Try again. Make a sunny day.'

Angel closed her eyes.

Suddenly, all I saw was darkness. The sky, a dark-blue shade, paled lighter in a dappled blue, the colour of a summer sky, and faded snapdragons. The sky was void of clouds, and the sun, an orb of many bright, summer colours - red and orange and yellow flecked - appeared and light the clearing. I could smell the spring air, instead of wet leaves. Then the scene seemed to blur, and settled back into the setting of near rain.

'That was amazing, Ange,' I said, smiling. Angel grinned, shaking back her golden curls like a waterfall. Renesmee touched Angel's hand. They looked almost alike; the same lithe, graceful bodies that were less childlike than a regular four/six-year-old's. More elegantly proportioned, stronger, with already defined faces. The only difference was that Angel was slightly taller, and Renesmee's ringlets were bronze. They had clicked like two magnets.

'Later,' Angel said, her eyes lighting up, 'opportune moment.'

'Oh, great,' I muttered, backing away.

----

'OK, Max. All you have to do is fly until you see Bella and Ness,' Edward instructed in his velvetly, remarkably appealing voice. 'Emmett, play fair.'

Emmett crossed his unbeating heart mockingly. He laughed then - and I caught a soft look lingering on Rosalie's usually beautiful, cold features. Her lips had been pressed into a hard line, her eyes expressionless, but it was the way she held her mouth that made me think she was angry.

Something about Emmett calmed her - it was the first time I'd seen her look like that. She touched his face, and began running into the forest. Rosalie was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at. Alice, however, rolled her brilliant gold eyes.

'I'll be watching, Emmett,' she warned. She, too, ran into the forest, followed by Jasper. They would all be waiting at points in the forest - though I suspected most of the other vampires would be watching, leaning against the top branches of tree trunks, resting underwater, unseeable to everyone. I had not seen the Denali or Romanian covens this morning - nor Zafrina, Benjamin, Tia, Siobhan, Liam, Maggie, Carlisle or Esme. None of the wolves. And practically none of the Order.

'Ready?' Charlotte, who had not spoken a single word to me through her bright red lips - that matched her eyes. Surprisingly, she was beginning the "race", holding a white flag in her subtly glittering hand. She looked amused. 'Set?' I unfurled my wings. Was it past the wildflower meadow, then the river bank? Or the riverbank then the meadow? 'Go!' She waved the flag in the air, and I took a running start into the air. It took a moment to regain the speed of flight, and I saw Emmett's blurred figure darting through the forest like an arrow.

I flew to the river bank in less than 5 minutes. I could see Jasper's honey-blonde hair, even from a distance - the colour was looked almost bright gold in the light. He was leaning against a tree trunk whose twisted branches were covered in moss from the river bank, as well as spiky ivy leaves twining and curling on the forest floor. Tall and lean, he smiled, very faintly, and vanished as he, too, began to run. I couldn't see Emmett anywhere - he was taking a different route.

As I passed trees, I saw Carlisle and Esme on the branches of a pine-tree - almost 100 feet high. They were sitting as still as porcelain statues, shimmering as the sunlight struck their faces. If they fell, they would land as lightly as if they were landing on water. Esme smiled, and pointed down - another flash of river showed Siobhan against the rocks in the riverbank, the icy water running over her bare feet.

In another ten minutes, I saw Alice in the baseball clearing. A gold pocketwatch was cupped in her porcelain hands, her gold eyes watching the embossed hands move. She looked up before I was even close to her, like she knew I'd be there at that time. Jasper was beside her, his honey blonde hair the only light colour against the dark shades. His own eyes were trained on Alice, watching her. He would follow Alice anywhere she wanted to go. Alice smiled. She took Jasper's hand and they vanished.

I wasn't sure what Edward wanted to accomplish here. I had enough practise running. But not outrunning vampires.

10 minutes later, I was completely, and utterly lost. I grit my teeth. All the pines look the same: swooping, with elegant branches scattering pine needles onto the forest floor. Canopies falling, all satiny and green and covered in dew. I couldn't see the ice-blue slash of river, not the faintest sound of leaves crunching as someone walked on them. I couldn't hear anything but the whistling wind. Crap.

I turned back, searching down, until I thought I saw a bit of someone's t-shirt ... there was a picnic there: Ron, Ginny and Hermione leaning lazily against a big fir tree. Then I noticed how the forest was mapped out: the gleaming pine trees made a path, straying from the dirt path of rusty, woodsy shaded leaves, pine needles and mud that made a hiker's path, it wound around the river, twisting, and encircled the baseball clearing roughly 1,000 yards back. I kept circling until I heard it.

A scream.

Not just any scream. A scream that echoed off the swooping, gleaming pine-trees and sent pine needles falling. A scream that made birds shoot into the blue-grey sky, that seemed to make everything go still and the sun disappear behind a cloud. Ear-splittingly loud. Terrified. A little girl's scream.

I found Ron, Ginny and Hermione. They're faces were stark white. We were soon joined by Alice, Jasper, Rosalie, Emmett, Jacob and Edward who had appeared. Alice's face was paler than I'd ever seen: porcelain, almost translucent. Her golden eyes were wide - I'd never seen the black shadows that darkly under the bones, like they were painted there in charcoal.

They had appeared oddly, like her eyes were blackening, veins speading across her face. She looked scared. Jasper was leaning, almost subconciously, over her. He would rip someone's head off if they so much as touched her shoulder in comfort. This was his wife, he would protect her.

Nothing ever bothered Emmett, but he had an arm around Rosalie, her golden blonde hair floating in the wind, almost as protective as Jasper. Her face was a beautiful mask, her lips pressed into a hard line like she was clenching her teeth. Jacob's skin, usually glinting a rustic shade of fallen autumn leaves, was paler, like he was afraid too.

It was almost a pale reddish colour, like scarlet paint mixed with white. He was shuddering almost as badly as Alice, but in a different way. Like he was controlling himself, forcing himself backwards from transforming into a wolf. Edward merely looked confused unlike anytime I had ever seen him.

Then came Carlisle, Esme, Siobhan, Maggie, Liam - all running then coming to a stop, fluid and graceful, like they had hit an invisible barrier.

All faces were emotionless, but something darkened in their eyes like a candle behind a glassy, opaque surface. Esme's lips were no longer bright red with colour, but pale. She looked like if she could cry, she would.

'Alice?' Jasper's voice was strained. 'Alice, honey, what it is it? _What_, Al?'

Alice turned. Her wind-chime voice sounded like shattering ice. It was frightening - for once, something about her wasn't beautiful. It was terrifying. Her eyes were darker than I'd ever seen, fathomless black orbs. 'I don't know,' she whispered. Her voice was like a break to my heart. 'I couldn't see.' Jasper's face looked like it was made from stone. He put his arms around her, locking her in his embrace. She was almost shivering, convulsions that rippled through her graceful, petite frame that seemed so weird, so unnatural for a vampire.

'Are the flock OK?' I said quietly. My first priority was the flock.

'They're coming,' Jasper said, stroking his fingers through her raven-black locks of spiked hair. His eyes didn't meet mine: the gold was focused on Alice. She was like a planet, and he was the serene satellite that orbited her. If she needed him, he would be there in a heartbeat - she was his sun, his star, his everything. 'Look up.' In about three seconds, the flock landed like they had been there the whole time.

'Did you hear that?' Angel's voice was worried.

'Holy--' Ron began. He was gazing at the sky, horrorstruck. Amongst the grey-blue sky, oddly beautiful, the colour of the sky before it rained, was a black shape. It was the colour of a pool of ink, of thirsty vampire eyes, the colour of the sky at midnight. Nothing coud compare to this deadened, horrible colour. It was the shape of a skull, overhead like the sun should be. And out of the broken jaw of the skull came a serpent, twisting and twining. It was the worst thing you could possibly imagine. Hermione gasped.

'What?' Edward's voice was like a cutting knife. 'What _is _that?'

Nobody spoke for the longest time. 'It's the Dark Mark,' Hermione whispered, 'it's the worst omen you could possibly imagine. Nothing is more terrible, more frightening, it strikes the most terror that you've ever known in anybody's hearts. It's Voldemort's sign. It's the omen of death. It appears in the sky like some black, decayed thing when ... when ...' her voice trailed off at the look on Edward's face.

'When somebody's died,' my voice cut the silence.

Suddenly, Edward put Angel on his back. Her slender arms, wound around his neck, twisting like a vine. His eyes were blacker Alice's, the blackened shadows under his eyebones becoming prominent, like there were the broken marks, like veins, on the side of his neck like a vase that's been smashed, and then pieced hastily back together. Jasper took Iggy, who climbed onto the blonde vampire's back like he'd rather be doing anything but.

Alice had Nudge, Emmett took Fang, Esme took Hermione, Carlisle took Ron and Siobhan took Ginny. None of us could run fast enough. Rosalie, her bright red lips snarling - somehow she still managed to look beautiful - had me on her back, her golden-blonde hair falling down her back in soft waves. Unlike Alice, who smelt nothing like flowers or citrus or musk but something beautiful and unhead of, Rosalie smelt like, well, roses.

It was lovely, but the fragrance was so light, like air. I wondered why she smelt like that - didn't all vampires have the scent of something so lovely it couldn't possibly be human? I wanted to ask her, but Edward inclined his head just a fraction that I changed my mind.

'Hold on, human,' Rosalie said. Her ice-cold hands made sure my arms were twined around her neck. Then, she began to run. I could see nothing but the passing of the swooping pine trees, it was dizzying, intoxicating, I could see why they loved it so much - it was unlike any other type of running ever. The sky blurred past, whistling of blue and grey smudges that weren't even distinct anymore. Everything was so fast, colours, sounds.

'Rosalie?' I began. Rosalie's blonde hair whipped. 'Why is Edward like that?' I gestured to Edward's face, the bruises under his eyes that looked like they've been painted there in charcoal, blacker than black ink, regular vampire eyes, midnight and that meant they were blacker than the Dark Mark. The look in them I had never seen: rage. Pure, unadulterated anger.

'That's where the finish line was meant to be,' Rosalie said quietly, 'that's where Bella and Renesmee were meant to be waiting.' Her golden eyes narrowed like chips of jewels. Rose loved Renesmee - like the daughter that was never hers, but Ness was close to her unbeating heart, as close as Emmett.

When Bella was pregnant, Rosalie was the one watching over her day and night, those hours when she didn't need to sleep. Rose was worried too. 'Bella and Nessie are everything to Edward. His sun, his star, his moon, his everything. He would rather die than be without them. He's not angry. He's, well, scared.'

In a few seconds, Rose came to a halt at another clearing. Less beautiful, somehow more forlorn. 'No,' she breathed.

I slid off her back. Edward's face looked like a burning man, broken beyond repair, terrified and heartbroken. His face looked like it would shatter into a million pieces as he gazed at a rock on the ground. His eyes were tortured, black chips of onyx stone. Jacob's face was horrified, almost as burningly stark as Edward's. It looked strange compared to the usual shining grin he gave out. Alice was leaning into Jasper, his face looked like it would break as he watched his wife. I went closer and flinched back. Oh, God, oh God, oh God. It wasn't a rock.

Rocks aren't that beautiful.

Rocks don't have locks of mahogany hair, glinting red in the sunlight.

Rocks don't have porcelain skin glinting like thousands of embedded diamonds.

Rocks don't have wide, golden eyes framed with thick lashes.

Rocks don't look like Bella's dismembered head.

----

'Her body,' Edward finally spoke - the velvet sound was like there was metallic shards in his throat. Bella's severed head was cradled in his arms, her pale lavender lids closed, and her mahogany hair rippling in the breeze, like it was alive. Angel was crying into my side. 'Where's her body?' I could barely look at Bella's mangled neck.

In a heartbeat, he had searched the clearing, and came back with Bella's body, broken like a doll whose joints have been twisted over and over, disfigured like a chew toy. It was worst that her body was still in one piece, yet the slender limbs were limp, unmoving, shattered. Edward's face was crumpled in pain unlike any other. He was killing himself from the inside out.

'She's not burnt,' Jasper said quietly, 'they didn't want to kill her, Edward. Just render her useless.'

Edward put Bella's head to her body. I watched in fascinated horror as her porcelain, mangled skin attached itself, stitching the threads of flesh together, like nothing had ever happened. There was no scar, no mark, no hint she had been touched at all. The bones in her arms and legs and spine were clicking back together with popping sounds. I felt like I wanted to heave. Slowly, her lavender eyelids opened, as she stared at the sky. It was the most disgusting, amazing thing I'd ever seen.

'Edward?' Bella sounded confused. She jumped into his arms. He held her like she was fragile, breakable, human. He held her adoringly, like she was a piece of fallen star, exquiste like a museum artefact, priceless. Edward treated her carefully, yet there was something in his eyes that said so much more than the way he clung to her. 'Edward, Edward, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry ... I ... I ...'

'Don't be,' Edward murmured, pressing his face into the rippling waves of her mahogany hair. 'Where's Renesmee?'

'That's the thing,' Bella said softly, 'right ... right before they ripped my head off ... they took her. They took Nessie. Just like Alice saw them.'

----


	26. I Know You're Afraid Because I Am, Too

**I Know You're Afraid Because I Am Too **

**Max P.O.V:**

Everyone was freaking out.

That's the only way I can think of describing it.

Completely and utterly freaking out.

When Bella said that Nessie was gone, I think Edward almost had a physically impossible heart attack. He froze, his arms locked around Bella in an embrace that made her look caged. She was apologizing, and running her fingers through his bronze hair in a vain, useless attempt to calm him. He was still, with no sign of ever moving again.

I don't think he took a single breath, just staying like a marble statue for five minutes before his golden eyes blazed dangerously, and he before ripped a beautiful, towering fir tree from the roots and sent it sailing. A snarl ripped through his lips, and his entire frame was tensed. Jacob, on the other hand, was beside himself.

Shaking like a fragile branch swaying in the wind, as fragile-looking as an autumn leaf ready to fall off. He was trembling like he was on top a freezing mountain, his fists clenched. He looked half-mad. Like he was burning. Renesmee was everything to him. I couldn't even imagine what it was like for him to lose her. Jacob had been running for Sam through Forks and La Push, weaving through the forest in case the Volturi came before Alice could forsee it. The fact he hadn't be there to save Nessie might kill him.

Alice, Esme and Rosalie would've been crying if they could. More of the Order, vampires and werewolves had come into the clearing, worry etched into the vampire's beautiful faces like their expressions were carved there in marble. Al was sitting cross-legged against a pine tree with her glistening, pale lavender lids shut.

Her spiky halo of hair was pressed against the trunk. Jasper was watching her. He had been tense before, but it seemed to be all gone when he looked at Al. I'd always known there were silvery half-moons on his arms like a lattice. Marks repeated a thousand times over to form a pattern on his porcelain skin. I had never noticed before, but there was one just above one of his dark golden eyes narrowed into slits as he watched Alice. I'd thought they were birth marks or something - now, in the dim light, they looked kind of like bites.

Maybe they were why Jasper was so frightening. Beautiful, but he scared me. He'd never touch a single one of us, but there was something about Jasper - maybe the glint in his gold eyes of that fierce protectiveness, or maybe it was the silver marks - that was truly frightening. As if he knew, he absently touched one of the most prominent marks on his arm.

'How, Alice?' Edward hissed. Bella gave him a glare at the same time Jasper did.

'I didn't see,' Alice whispered. She put her head in her lip, so she was elegantly folded in on herself. I had always seen that Ali was like a porcelain doll: small and painstakingly graceful, but I had never seen her like this: her little shoulders were hunched. Jasper was at her side instantly. For a second I thought he was going to shake her like a real doll, but instead he began stroking the locks of spiky black hair.

'They must've had something that didn't let me.' Her head shot up, and her gold eyes were wide. Black around the edges. Unthinkingly, I looked at Fang, and saw the same confusion that glimmered in his dark eyes that was repeated in mine. I looked away a split second later, and saw Alice's head snap up.

'I'll be back soon,' Alice shot to a freakishly elegant stand. Nothing Alice could do would ever look ungraceful. Every movements that look like dancing motions are never jerky even in her haste. She snatched Jasper's hand, and they darted off into the trees in the blink of an eye.

She didn't even glance backwards.

Jasper did - he never questioned what Alice wanted, so his golden eyes were as clear as glass, only something under the surface betrayed his emotions.

His mouth was set in a thin, hard line.

xx

**Harry P.O.V: 5 hours later.**

The door of the attic creaked open. The sound was sinister, and deathly, like a wooden staircases that creaks in the middle of the night, the sound you only hear in horror movies - the place where the sunlight has forgotten. A chilling sound. Instinctively, I flinched back. I could see the pale, bluish veins prominent in my arms and the weak fragility of my bones from malnutrition.

It wasn't like I was starving - but I had grown tired of the inevitable, seemingly everlasting taste of cheap bread and lumps of cheese on my tongue. If I ever had to taste that again, it would be far too soon. I pushed myself away from the door, as far as I could. There seemed to be a pattern forming: the hauntingly creaking door and the painful kicks delivered with spike-heeled or steel-capped shoes onto my shins. The Death Eaters seemed to get some kind of perverse kick out of it.

Then the pattern changed. The Death Eaters began looking tired - like everything had been drained out of them. It was like a lightbulb extinguishing - the manic energy had fizzled out, completely died. Their faces grew paler, almost translucent, so you could see the rings under their eyes from the sleepless nights.

When they came to "check" on me, their eyelids fluttered from the lack of sleep, and they walked like the living dead, horribly suspended, fragile corpses, limp hands clutching coffee cups as they forced it down.

None of them bothered to glare anymore, not bothering to do anything but pick a loose muti-coloured thread from their itchy sweaters (tucked under their robes so they couldn't become too comfortable). I was beginning to think half of them didn't care anymore.

Bellatrix came through the door, with a figure levitated in front of her. She looked right past me like I didn't exist. She looked terrible: her black corkscrew curls was piled on top of her head, her eyeliner was streaked like black ink running down a page, and she walked exactly like the fragile corpses of Death Eaters I'd seen, only more wonky in her high-heeled boots, like she couldn't keep herself upright.

I couldn't see what she was levitating: the only light came from the staircase, from a lightbulb suspended and emitting dusty rays, so Bellatrix cast the object in a shadow.

She put the object carelessly on the floorboards, and the door clicked shut a few seconds later. I inched closer to the human. It was a little girl, maybe about five years old. A moonlight touched her beautiful face, making a sliver of her porcelain-coloured skin gleam. Bronze ringlets spilled from her hair, and her eyelashes brushed her skin.

She kinda reminded me of one of those old-fashioned dolls kept pristine in cases - her eyes were probably like glass jewels embedded in her perfect little face- like those dolls that had glass eyes in pale blue or pale green. Urgh, how creepy that would be? Her eyelids fluttered and opened, revealing eyes the colour of chocolate milk. Not glassy at all, but like they held all the knowledge in the world. They made her look different, no longer doll-like. She stared at me.

'Hi, um --' I waited.

'Renesmee. Renesmee Cullen. But you can call me Nessie.' She introduced herself formally. Cullen ... that rang a dim bell. I watched as she somehow made her bronze ringlets shimmer as she moved. I had no idea how she did that - the moon had be obscurbed by a cloud. Weak rays of silvery light came from behind the darkness, but other than that, there was no light at all. Then her eyes flicked to my scar. Knowing lit up her face. 'And you're Harry Potter. The one they're looking for.'

'Yes,' I smiled at her, 'who is ... who is "they", Renes - Nessie?'

'Everyone,' Nessie replied in her high voice - so much more beautiful than a regular little girl's. It was as clear as a bell. Someone would've called it "impossibly lovely", but the first thought that came to my mind was "inhuman". 'Max and the flock, Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, and the werewolves and vampires.' She paused, scruntizing my expression. Vampires. Beautiful, nothing like the legends said of human blood-drinkers and blessed crosses and garlics. Sparkling and "vegetarian". I wondered which one she was ... I was sure they both somehow existed.

'Vampires ... like my family.'

xx

**Max P.O.V:**

The vampires began fighting the next afternoon. Not fighting as in arguing, fighting as in well, physically. Edward was opposed to us watching: he said it was too instinctive, the reactions impulsive, almost sub-conscious. He said it could be potentially deadly to us, which I thought was a load of shit. Bella, however, agreed with me.

'You didn't attack _me_,' she said philosophically, 'and my blood was twice as more appealing to you than any other human.'

Edward's lips pulled back in a grimace, but Bella ignored him. Edward continued his rant, but nobody was listening to the "bloodlust and domination of senses" other than Carlisle, whose blonde head was inclined gracefully, but almost unnoticably . Jasper - who had returned without Alice - had found another clearing.

This one was assymmetrical, a ring on the ground of reddish dirt, almost a burnished auburn colour, apart from the flame-tinted leaves and pine needles that fell from the trees. He seemed - distracted. Alice wasn't there, and Alice was _always _there. Even though they tried not to show it, Esme's gold eyes kept flickering edgily around her, fathomless except when they caught the light and showed what she really felt; and Jasper's shoulders looked like they would snap from the tension.

'Bella is right, Edward,' Carlisle said firmly. Everyone else, the Order and the wolves sat almost like a small, misshapen, yet colourful audience, the wolves - clearly taller like trees - at the back, whereas the vampires were standing in a vertical line, lazily elegant, waiting with the patience of a hundred year's practice. Edward snarled. He stepped forward into the ring.

'No, me first,' came a bell-like voice. Shockingly lovely and clear. It rang throughout the clearing. Jasper relaxed entirely, a small smile playing on his mouth before his face hardened. Alice danced into the ring, her porcelain face impassive, completely emotionless, but there was a tiny crease in her forehead that looked like it was etched there in marble. She stood directly in the middle.

It kind of reminded me of when they were dancing at the Christmas ball; nobody had wanted to stand in the way of Alice and Jasper's incorruptible, infallible perfection. Nobody wanted to look clumsy and graceless in comparison. Except this time, it seemed more inhuman: it was subtle, but enough for me to be able to see the difference. And then Jasper sprang at her.

I didn't think for a second that Jasper would ever hurt Alice. But before he could touch her, she had moved. One minute she was there, the next she was a lilting footstep away. It was like her feet had barely touched the ground, so she had danced infinitesimally sideways, a tiny ballerina's step.

It was almost like one of those wind-up dancing figurines that moved slightly out of place when the wind blew. And Jasper's fingers had not so much as whisked past her waist. Everyone sort of inhaled together at the same time. When you saw it, she kept moving faster, faster until she was almost a blur. Then Alice came to a lilting, graceful halt, completely unruffled - not even one hair in her spiky halo was mussed out of place.

'_Never take your eyes off the game," _Jasper said calmly, 'fundemental rule number one. If you look away, even for a millisecond, you can miss the slightest things, the tiniest of change, yet those small things you miss can make all the difference whether or not you live ... or die.' Well, a-duh. _Angel _could've told him that.

I didn't even _see_ her move. I hadn't blinked, yet she had danced forwards faster than I could've ever imagined. I had never seen anybody move like that, like a bullet from a gun, an arrow from a bow. Edward looked staggered. Alice was on Jasper's back, red lips pressed to the unbeating pulse on his neck.

Her teeth skimmed his porcelain skin, glittering on the surface, like she was going to rip his throat out. 'Like this, Jaz?' she laughed and stood beside him. Jasper stared at her for a moment, completely shocked.

Jasper laughed. 'Um, yeah, kind of like that.'

Edward rolled his eyes. And the killing games continued in the field. Emmett fought like a bear. On some bizarre, unexplainable level, Emmett was enjoying himself. Energy poured from him in waves. Nothing ever deterred Emmett's fun. He was like a stubborn little kid that wants to keep running around than go inside.

Jasper's gold eyes flickered like flames, brightly assessing Emmett with the intelligence of a few centuries, until Emmett threw Jasper like someone throws a stone into the ocean, about fifteen freaking feet in the air.

But no, Jasper turned unexpectedly, grasping Emmett in a position that looked like it would crush his ribs into a chalky powder and pierce his unbeating heart all at once. Emmett cussed. Holy shit. I knew Jasper was good, but I didn't expect him to be that good. If he were human, I would've backhanded his face, and thrown him backwards in a way that would've snapped his neck. But Jasper was a vampire. Backhanding him would just hurt my hand and he could probably just stick his neck back into place.

Rosalie darted at Jasper and slapped him. For a second, I wondered if she had just bitch-slapped him, like a catfight, but I realized it was actually a backhand that looked like something a cheerleader might do. Jasper looked at her, dazed and disoriented, but not altogether confused as he popped his dislocated jaw back into place with a sinister clicking sound. Rosalie, in those few seconds, darted out of his path, weaving until he caught her in a headlock, her blonde waves rippling down her back like a waterfall. She choked, and he released her.

Carlisle, then Bella, Edward, then Esme. Watching Jasper attack Bella was harder, watching him attack Esme was harder. Then the witches and wizards showed; making flames spark on a pine tree, growing to a burning, sparking, massive bonfire, and then it vanished like the forest hadn't even been touched. Mad-Eye made a spider that size of a sesame seed grow, pincers like talons, fangs dripping with venom, the size of a large boulder.

It hissed, snarling, scuttling forwards menacingly and then shrank again to the size of a pinhead. Fleur made rocks and tree roots embedded in the ground uproot with the ripping sound of something being violently torn, dirt clinging to the underside. The rocks were thrown in every direction like a thousand bullets, crashing into trees with a surprisingly loud noise.

Bill made the tree roots wrap around Remus's arms and legs, knotting him around a thick tree trunk. Benjamin, the vampire, made what looked like a valley in the clearing, that looked like a blackened, bottomless pit and Tonks made snakes appear at the bottom - yet you could only her the sinister hissing sounds and a faint rattling noise.

Admist everyone demonstrating, I saw Jasper glid over to Alice.

'What did you see?'

Alice gazed up at him; her expression was not friendly. Then her face composed into a mask that looked like it was painted, only her mouth held any expression. Her eyes were emotionless, blank and completely unreadable. Jasper looked into her eyes, and a crease appeared in his forward. It was like he could hear her thoughts, only hers. 'That's too soon,' he murmured. 'Full moon?'

I looked up at the sky. I could see a faint white imprint of a half moon, an almost silvery crescent in the unusually pale blue sky. Soon, much, _much_ too soon. Jasper looked up as well. 'How many?' Alice shook her little head, like a tiny doll's. Her eyes were closed, lavender eyelids glistening. I hadn't noticed how she looked so, so ... tired.

Even though her eyes had been golden only a few moments ago, they seemed like darkened orbs in her pale face, wide and staring like black jewels, only ones that no longer glittered with that light that people had. Like all the life was draining out of her. She must've been putting a lot of stress in, a lot of effort. Too much effort. Alice is so small. Edward turned around as well, assessing her with that gold glint in his own eyes. Jasper shook her, but carefully.

'I wish I could sleep,' she said instead. Jasper sighed, his shoulders shrugging elegantly, but Alice took pity on him. 'A lot,' Alice said softly, 'more than anyone would want.'

'As in one hundred?'

'Voldemort's Death Eaters,' Alice said, staring off into space like she was trapped her own little world. 'Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Avery, Walden Macnair, Crabbe Sr, Goyle Sr, Alecto and Amycus Carrows, Yaxley, Antonin Dolohov, Gibbon, Thorfinn Rowle, Jugson, Mulciber, Nott Sr, Augustus Rookwood, Selwyn and Travers.'

'Itex?'

'Itex are bringing unnamed mutated creations - estimated 50. Maybe more. Half are newly created and are unstable. All are flawed, none of them as elegantly, or properly formed as the flock. They should be easy to destroy with a few stronger, well-trained exceptions.' Omega, I was thinking of him, the slightly beautiful boy that was not much older than me, with those blank silvery eyes that were completely emotionless. Created to be the strongest mutant of them all - if they could get rid of his design flaws, they would get Superboy. 'The Volturi and the Volturi Guard. That may be over eighty-five, eventually.'

_Over eighty-five_.

'Gaz,' I said, wandering of to his side. I brushed his pale-blonde hair. 'Remember those Molotov cocktails?' He nodded, his face lighting up from the inside, but his blue eyes were wary. 'Well, do you think you could make, say, about a 100 more before full moon?'

Well, take one for the team, that's why I say.

xx

**Harry P.O.V:**

Bellatrix came in, her high-heeled boots clicking sinisterly. Her black hair was still piled haphazardly on top of her head, but her eyeliner made her eyes looked fathomless, like black jewels that have lost their shine. Her face wasn't just pale, it was almost tinted grey, and she looked so bleak, colourless, like everything was drained out of her. She still walked wonkily, a thin shawl wrapped around her shoulders like a fragile corpse. Renesmee's hand was inside mine - I wouldn't let anybody get near her.

'Channeling your inner washed-up 80s rock star, I see, Bellatrix,' I greeted her, and waited for her to snap like a broken twig, shatter like a glass with a baseball gone through the window, but with her gloomy expression, she didn't even seem to care. She couldn't even sneer.

'Whatever,' she mumbled. 'Get out.' She pointed one black-polished fingernail at the door. I was confused and stared at her with what must've been a slightly dazed and disorientated expression, completely bemused. Was she just letting us go? Just walk out the door like someone leaving after a party with wine and coloured paper hats? Suddenly, she seemed to draw light from somewhere and smiled nastily. Her teeth were gleaming, and almost pointed. Her face was malicious.

'We're going on a little ... road trip, shall we say?' She managed a laugh. 'We're going to see who will win and who will die.'

* * *

**A/N: This one took much longer to update. It's been crazy here for the past three weeks, but I won't bore you with the details because they are v. long. I just want to wish you all a (belated) Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Consider this my small gift to you. It's been over a year since this story began, and I want to thank every single one of you for sticking around. It means a lot to me, and I'm glad that most of you like it. Review? (I don't believe I still ask). Thank you. xo. **


	27. By The Pricking Of My Thumbs

******A/N: Remember that Alice can't see werewolves. The only way she could see what was happening in the clearing was because the werewolves weren't/are not going to be in the clearing in her vision/during the war ... they were/are going to be dealing with some other kind of werewolves elsewhere at the time Alice had her vision. As in the case of Lupin, he can only Change into a wolf at the mythological/HP version full moon, and is mostly human. Therefore, she can see him and the other HP wolves much better than the pack that can change into wolves at will. **

**By The Pricking Of My Thumbs**

_By the pricking of my thumbs,_

_something wicked this way comes._

-Macbeth.

**Edward:**

We were in the living room. Everyone was talking. The Gasman, as he was ironically nicknamed, was at the dining table, drawing a design with Alice's felt-tips for Molotov cocktail bombs shot from what appeared to be a large, comically drawn cannon. It was colourful and seemingly able to shoot a cocktail fifty feet in the air. Alice had told him not to press too hard, so everything was sketched like a blueprint of a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

Max was bent over it, shaking her head - disapprovingly? Or impressed? I thought it was closer to disapproving, there was a crease in her forehead. Her thoughts cried out something along the lines of how wrong and stupid this was_. _At least some of her morals were still in place. I had heard her tell a highly amused Emmett about how she had to lock Iggy's bomb-making kit away after he'd almost caused an avalanche several falls previously.

Then she said, 'it should have a catapault attached. It would create a better distance. A good enough one might hit 300 feet.' I suppressed the urge to hit my head against a wall as the Gasman drew a very accurate version of a catapault on a stand next to the cannon. Angel giggled.

Some of the Order, vampires and werewolves were outside, devising the battlefield. Benjamin wanted boulders - vampires would be able to crush the heavy reddish rocks into powder by simply splitting it in half, but not altogether easily. Mad-Eye Moody, one of the ex-Auror's (Dumbledore had told us what an Auror was, which Emmett took with a _little too much_ interest) said that they could put a bomb that would landslide some of the rocks. If the vampires were dismembered slightly, we could just torch the whole thing. Something told me that some of them were enjoying themselves.

Again, probably more than they should.

Fang was outside, helping Iggy find the coloured wires for a bomb embedded deeply in the soil - it would create a crater, burying half the mutant creations alive. It would ommitt some of the, as someone had shrewdly put it in their heads, the enemy.

I had never quite thought of the Volturi as "enemies" - leaders, rulers, royalty, perhaps, but never something like villans. Until they took my daughter and had my wife momentarily decapitated. They were truly our enemies now, like I had once seen the Quileute werewolves. Fang and Iggy were some distance away, but with my vampire hearing, their words were clear.

'The red wire! The red wire! The freaking red one!' Iggy shouted impatiently, clutching a metallic shard in his hand that looked like a piece to a jigsaw puzzle. Clasped in his other hand was a string of tangled fibre-optic cables as Fang searched for the string of multicoloured wires.

'There are fifteen freaking red wires!' Fang shouted back. 'Do you want to be more specific? The red wire that's crimson or scarlet? Does it have a "warning - high voltage capability" tag? Is it slightly fraying? Does it have a yellow wire attached? Or is it by itself!?'

Iggy paused.

'Um ... the one with the "high voltage" tag. No yellow cord attached, unfraying. It should be dark red.'

'Longest or shortest?'

'Longest. Does it have a connector?'

_'_Now you need connectors!? There are like, _fifty_ connection cords. Some for the multicoloured wires, some for the fibre-optic cables, some for the high voltage electric waves, some for the explosive buttons, and you want just one?' Fang was almost beside himself. 'I don't care, I'm giving you this shiny looking one!' He shoved a metallic cord at Iggy - it looked like a silvery hairpin with jaggedy forks. Iggy took it, frowning.

'Fang?'

'Yeah?' Fang said warily.

'This is the right one.'

I laughed to myself.

If there is one thing I have found out in over 100 years, intruding upon someone's thoughts is very subtle, yet occassionally risky. They can't feel me probing through their mind like it was an open book. It wasn't like my fingers indenting the fragile barriers around your mind, like an intrusion. It was not uncomfortable, it never bothered them, and they couldn't tell, unless a raised eyebrow or an eye roll or some twitch gave me away.

All except Bella's. She was my rare exception, something that had always fascinated me. Not for the first time, I wished I could read her thoughts. She was with Rose at the clear-glass windows Esme had gotten from France. Rose was murmuring words, her lips moving with an almost silent speech.

Alice, on the other hand, always seemed to know perfectly well; like she had forseen the elegant shrug, the twitch of being irritated, the unimpressed eyeroll at thoughts that hadn't been thought yet, and knew how to avoid it. She was currently sitting on the white leather couch between Jasper and Emmett and gave me a smile. She somehow managed to show all her glistening teeth in that one small smile.

Right now she was singing "Amazing Grace" in her head in Icelandic.

Norwegian.

Sign language.

Morse code.

I gave her a dirty look. She returned with another innocent smile. She knew I wanted to hear about Nessie, and since she wasn't so much as letting one vision in, it couldn't be good. I knew how Alice's visions worked. The future wasn't set in stone, things changed. Nothing was impossible in Alice's world - it was like she was living in a dream.

She saw things differently through her own bright gold eyes, not the mundane, predictability we others, the ones who didn't see the future, thought we saw, but something filled with opportunity in many ways. We saw nothing but bold, three dimensional of what was right in front of our faces, colour, sound, smell. When she closed her eyes, everything right in front of her fell away, the surroundings, the people, even Jasper.

To watch them through her mind was unusual - everything besides the vision was blotted out. It was almost like Zafrina's illusions - the image was clear like it was printed on your eyelids. Even if my eyes were open, I could see nothing but the future. I could hear the future, the laughs, the sighs, words spoken, screams.

To see what she had - things that had not happened yet! Only she, and Aro Volturi, knew precisely how they worked, but I knew enough. Knowing that she was repressing her visions made me want to throw something heavy. Now I concentrated hard and tried to pry the thoughts from her, like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

She stiffened. A pop song blared through my head. She knew I hated the bizarre, upbeat, predictable music of humans. It was not smooth, nor even, enough. I sighed, and decided to ignore the repetitive chorus in favour of less thoughts that were _not_ thinking of pop songs. I focused on Carlisle, who was in the kitchen helping Esme make sandwiches for the people who could still eat human food without getting nauseated.

Huh.

Cucumber and mayonnaise, seasoned with just the right amount of pepper.

xx

**Carlisle:**

I was cutting thin slices of cucumber when my phone rang. I felt indescribably rude not answering - who was I to ignore someone, when it could be important? I sighed. More people dying. The call went to voicemail; one of the nurse's squawking, high-pitching voices rattling out a set of medical cases. I barely heard them. _Respiratory infection, allergic reaction, spider bite._ I picked up the phone.

'- Dr. Cullen? The boy fell off his motorbike, yes, on a 10km cross-country dirt bike track. Something about Crusty Demons. He has internal bleeding, possibly from a ruptured spleen - he needs an operation immediately before the case becomes too severe. Dr. Snow is dealing with a girl bitten by a little known, poisonous spider. Her arm is the practically the size of Texas -'

'I'm sorry, uh ...'

'Nurse Jackie,' the nurse supplied helpfully. '-anyway, the girl's arm is purpling, and is frightened of needles, even if the liquid inside contains an antidote. Dr. Snow almost has to knock her out because she's throwing a small fit - oh, dear Lord, she just spat up her medicine -'

'Nurse Jackie,' I interrupted for a second time, 'I'm afraid I can't come in; there is a family emergency that I cannot possibly ignore -'

'- now I have to get that pink liquid off the floor. The stuff stains. Do you think the janitor will lend me some "Ajax Spray 'n' Wipe"? By the way, the boy's father had a failed leg operation, so his family are very mistrustful of surgeons. They don't believe the boy needs surgery, despite the increasing levels of internal bleeding. Blood transfusion may not be enough to save him soon. The mother thinks that all her son needs is a few painkillers -'

'-this situation, Nurse Jackie, it's highly important-'

'-like shoving Tylenol down his throat. Like he's only just broken a toe or something!'

'Nurse Jackie!' I said. The woman's high-pitched voice dimmed. 'This is a family emergency, and nothing else can change this situation. I'm very sorry, but you might have to get one of the higher-classed trainee surgeons to operate. Try Ted, he operated on a police officer than got shot in the leg the other day. Removed the bullet in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, get the boy in the OR. Put his parents on the line.'

There was a pause.

'Hello ... Dr. Cullen?' another woman's voice came in; a tinkling like bells, nowhere near as lovely as my daughter's, but had the same tone of being high, fluttering, yet clear. It was echoed by a man's gruffer voice, sounding like he'd rather be doing anything but speaking to me. 'I know that they think our son needs an operation, but it's just an overreaction on his behalf. Some painkillers will do the trick; I was thinking Tylenol? Maybe a good night's sleep and I can dismember that ridiculous bike of his?'

'No, ma'am,' I said, and there was silence. I knew she was momentarily stunned by my voice - all vampires sounded appealing, and it was something most of us tried to avoid, rather than revel in, by using our voices to be somewhat alluring. And when we were, it was usually unintentional. Many of us found the fact that humans could get so distracted by merely our voices disconcerting, even embarassing.

'It's actually rather that your son has a ruptured spleen, which leads to internal bleeding into his abdominal cavity, and decreasing of blood pressure. It's not an overreaction - my team are highly trained medical professionals. We rarely make mistakes. We are not mistaken upon this. He vomited up blood - this is not just something that can be stopped with a few Tylenol pills. We're not amateurs.'

'But, Dr. Cullen -'

'Ma'am, sir,' I said, beginning to lose patience, 'if you do not sign the consent form, your son will die. One day, you might be putting daisies on his gravestone, and realise it is entirely your fault he is lying in that coffin. Unless you want him cremated, of course.' I added as a second thought. 'My daughter almost died of internal bleeding, and I - and my family - have been thankful _every single day_ that she lived through it. She's married now, she has a child of her own. Your son could have all that. But if you don't put your signatures on that slip, he will never have any of it.'

There was a long pause.

Within two minutes, the parents had signed the form, and their son was being taken to the OR.

xx

**Esme:**

'I'm proud of you, honey,' I said to Carlisle, who had just given a small speech. He smiled. It had bought up all the memories that were mostly concealed. I could've bleed to death in a pool of my own blood on the rocks of a cliff - my body was almost a corpse, broken beyond human repair, and I'd never dreamed any other life was possible. At the time, I didn't really want any other life.

I wanted my son, who was someplace I couldn't go to no matter how much I wanted to. Not without killing myself. Then Carlisle saved me, and when I opened my eyes to the light, I saw a world filled with opportunities. He had saved my life just like he had saved this boy's - only in a different way. I was worried about Renesmee, the granddaughter I never could've imagined that I would have.

Seeing Bella be the true, biological mother I was only for a couple of days, but longer, brought back emotions I had never tried to remember. I didn't have my son, Emmett, Rosalie, Jasper, Alice, Edward and Bella were the next best things, maybe just as good. But Nessie wasn't here now, and I couldn't even remember how much that would hurt Bella. She needed her daughter, and the fact that she was alive, yet someone had taken her, enraged me. She was only a little girl!

Rosalie, I was proud to see, was comforting Bella - Rosalie and Alice tied for Nessie's favourite aunt, but Rosalie was protective of Nessie in almost a second-mother-type way. Bella and Rose had never quite gotten along, but Renesmee changed things between them, and that was good. Rose was more angry than upset, unlike Bella, and was doing her best to keep Bella moving. It hurt me to see them all in so much pain.

I watched as Max, the Gasman, and Angel - who I almost considered extended family now - plan out for using Molotov cocktail bombs. I wasn't entirely approving of using bombs - I hated violence, despite it being necessary - but I thought that it would most likely worked. I came over, watching Angel, who was not much older than Nessie looked, sketch out intricately-designed plans with a smoothness that seemed much older than a six/seven year old. It looked like something a professional architect with decades of practise would draw.

'How about grenades?' I suggested quietly, 'Launchers give the grenade a better accuracy when it comes to aiming for targets, higher velocity and covers a greater distance than throwing by hand. Instead of cocktail bombs, which are traditionally thrown, launchers give better precision. Of course, they're also portable rifles, like AK-47s and M16s.'

Edward's eyebrows raised.

'Jasper would know more,' I shrugged innocently, 'I just remembered that grenades are more efficient. And they seem to work well in all those World of Warcraft and Call Of Duty games you play so much on that X-Box.' Everyone was staring at me, in undisguised amusement and shock that was almost on an insulting level. 'I, um, lived through both WW1 and 2.'

'Everyone is just full of surprises today,' Rosalie mused.

xx

**Emmett:**

My Mom was hardcore! Who knew _Esme Cullen_ knew about AK-47 grenade rifles?

It was like finding out Megan Fox plays Laser Tag on her days off; or Heidi Klum goes go-karting in her spare time! Maybe even Angelina Jolie does Tomb Raider moves in mid-air in her million dollar home! Without a stunt woman!

I didn't even realise she watched our _COD 4: Modern Warfare_ epic battles. I kind of always thought she only watched out of amusement that Jazz and I always had arguments over if I was the sniper and he used the machine guns. (Please - I always use the machine guns! You see, he plans it all out from a military perspective, so he rarely dies. He thinks strategically. I think with the type of gun I'm handling and how well it can shoot the enemy from 100 feet away. Or the amount of ammo).

She never asked questions. Never blinked an eyelid, or shook her head, or rolled her eyes, even if I could tell she totally wanted to.

Oh, sure, she'd threatened a couple of times to disable the X-Box, but those things don't require parental guidence to set up. Every kid I've ever met who owns an X-Box figured out how to hook it up with small use of the instruction manuel! Maybe I could show Esme how to play _Halo_.

Only Edward and Carlisle occassionally played with us. Edward was always composing, Carlisle was always saving people's lives. Rosie thought that annihilating aliens was beneath her. Alice said that if playing broke one of her nails, she couldn't grow it back ANYTIME SOON, and that she'd have to drag Jasper to go to the beauty parlour to get it fixed and repainted some insanely bright colour. I think she forced Jas to get a mani-pedi done in the early '80s and he never quite got over it.

Bella had once played Halo with us; it had been quite a change from her _Pride and Prejudice_. There was not one hint of a love story when it came to committing mass genocide against an alien species. She was in no mood to eliminate a couple hundred parasites now. And if I even suggested it, Edward would throw me out one of the French windows and into the river. Drama queen.

Edward gave me a burning glare, the sort Rosie saves for bad human haircuts (she once said that she Lauren Mallory was trying to achieve a Natalie Portman with her sweep-across bangs, but said it looked more like her head had been mown), passing beetles (Rose _really_ hates beetles), and Eric Yorkie (who once dared ask her to the Spring Fling. Rosie looked at him in a way that seemed to make him shrink into his Hush Puppies and he backed off faster than I ever thought any human could). I smiled sheepishly at him.

Poor Eddie was freaking out over Ness. I could hardly blame him. I wanted to rip off the arms of the person who took her. Screw magic, I was going to tear them into shards with my bare hands! Nessie was my only - and let's face it, she would always be my only - niece. I sighed. I would let the violence mellow for a while, and then kick their asses. Meanwhile, I went and put my arm around Rosie, who was consoling Bella to be the best of her ability. She put her blonde head on my shoulder and closed her eyes.

'Em?'

'Yes, honey?' I prayed she wasn't about to suggest I pull the plug on my X-Box.

'Want to play _COD 4?_'

xx

**Rosalie POV:**

So, here I was, Rosalie Hale-Cullen, doing this shit.

I remembered Alice saying that she wouldn't play in case she broke one of her nails - she couldn't grow her bright hot-pink nails back anytime in the next 20 years. Well, let me tell you, if my $50 French manicured nails (with the diamantes) were ruined because I showed a hint of sympathy, I was going to crush Em's controllers and pretend like I just sat my marble sculptured, perfect ass down in the wrong place at the wrong time. But screw anyone if they think I'm not going to take out at least 100 of those terroists in open fire first.

'What's "LT" for?'

'"LT" is to aim, "RT" is to fire, babe.' I was doing the "training", and I couldn't help but smile when I shot that guy right in his computer-animated chest, in the place where his heart would be, if he had one. A fountain of blood spouted the bullet wound, and I felt the satisfied smile playing around my lips again, glad it wasn't real blood. Then there was a moving target. I used an AK-47 rifle to make a big hole right in the middle of his forehead. He fell like a bowling pin. This was ... kinda fun.

Then Emmett showed me a real scenario. It was a lot of battefields, classic-style. Sort of like the pictures in history textbooks, only brighter. The enemy always seemed to die in a pool of bright red fake blood, especially when you stabbed them with the point of your rifle in the middle of their ribs. I used a flamethrower on one of those jerks, and watched him writhe and shrivel as he burned.

'Die, Nazi bastard!' I muttered.

'I think they're terroists, honey.'

'Uh-huh.' My character hid behind what looked like a misshapen pile of rocks (it was bland, almost colourless and slightly badly animated so it was hard to tell from faraway if it was just a bunch of sticks glued together), and then shot two guys at once. Then my character ran to what was (probably) a half-falling-to-bits tin shed.

There was some guys using machine guns from one of the glass-plated windows (one was using a shotgun, seriously, who uses such a flimsy pistol when you're surrounded by people who want to kill you?). I took a sniper rifle which I had snatched off some dead bugger, and then shot all four of them in a row. Ha! Take that. Then one of them, like, popped out of a tree behind me and stabbed me with what looked like a bigass knife! And I died! WTF???

I watched in horror as my character lay crippled in the middle of the battlefield and the screen went black.

'When you die, you come back to life from the most previously reached checkpoint,' Em explained.

'Oh,' I muttered. I watched as he came back to life and changed my gun to one that would let off a round of bullets in my ammo clip in an open fire. I watched as I struck down a horde of 'em, and couldn't help but laugh. Albeit one of the maniacal kind.

'Now look what you've done, Emmett,' Edward muttered, but he was smiling. 'You created some kind of killer Barbie.'

'Shut up, Eddie, I'm kicking computer-animated butt here,' I said, as my character drove a rifle tip into two guys at one, spearing them into an attractive-looking kebab.

xx

**Jasper:**

I watched as my sister used open fire on an horde of enemies. Usually, when Em and I played Modern Warfare or WoW or COD, contempt emanated from Rosalie like humans radiated the scent that caused thirst, bloodlust. She had never liked our X-Box games; "beneath her" was only a mere term, if not slightly understated. The digust she felt when she watched us was not interest, just short of hatred.

Maybe, despite the virtual reality, it hit a little too close too home. Rose had once been left bleeding on the floor like that. I would never tell Emmett this. I was proud of my sister - for I was more or less a Hale now - for doing this for Emmett, to get his mind off things. I could tell she'd been hesitant at first, but she soon was pretty much, to use a human term, "kicking ass". She was actually enjoying herself.

I stood up, and went to see Max and the Gasman's blueprint. I stood a few metres back, they did smell appealing, almost on an indecent level. It was good; they'd obviously done this sort of thing before. Either that, or they just knew a lot about explosives. I remember how in the mid '90s, in Virginia, Emmett was caught designing a bomb.

At that time, the Mentos/Coke bottle philosophy wasn't greatly known as simply a loud explosive device (that made a big mess of a giant soft drink fountain) so the science teacher clearly thought he was desinging some high explosive for a bomb scare to hold off the mid-term exams.

He was carted off, (with aid, as Emmett probably outweighed the science teacher since third grade), to the office and had to explain that the Mentos/Coke thing was just a big prank to pull on Edward's (vampire) birthday. Luckily, Carlisle and Esme thought it was hilarious and none of us fail to remind him of it every time _his_ vampire birthday comes round.

It's sort of a tradition. This year, we should construct a massive Coke bottle so Emmett can jump out of it into the ocean like in that ad.

Anyway, their design was excellent: stable, strong, and I approved it. It looked like it would take a lot of effort, but for humans (or mutated creations depending on how you wanted to count for their avian DNA. They are mostly human), it was impressive. I think they would need steel, rather than just wood for their structure. I suggested this and Max's forehead got a crease in it.

'Vampires can uproot trees with small effort,' I reminded her. She nodded, taking another piece of art paper and began drawing a steel frame in graphic pencil. Max's art wasn't like Alice's - flawless like it had been drawn by a person who can draw a large, perfect circle with their eyes closed - but she wasn't bad. At least it wasn't stick figures, or worse, scribble.

'Looks fun, doesn't it, Jas?' Alice's voice chimed in happily. I smiled, my little Alice.

'"Fun" is a nice word for it,' I agreed.

xx

**Alice:**

'It looks fun, doesn't it, Jas?' I chimed in, as Jasper looked at Max drawing with a graphic pencil. Her hand was a little shaky, but when she drew, the line swooped and spiraled neatly. I could actually _see _the drawing come to life - it was 10 feet high and made the vampires stop in their tracks, as something glimmering flew through the air as if it really had wings.

Jasper smiled. Anyone else would've given me the universal look that wonders of possible insanity, but not Jasper. I guess the logical explanation is that after many years together, he understands me better than anyone else. '"Fun is a nice word for it,'" he agreed. Jasper sat back on the couch, and I leaned my head against his shoulder. Visions flickered like colourful butterflies behind my closed eyelids, twisting and dancing like small lights. Visions of the war that loomed like some dark shadow over our thin glass wall. It was so fragile ...

_Outcome One:_

_On the ground in front of me, I saw a girl's head. Her hair was coiling bloodstained on the ground in small brown waves. Her skin was porcelain, paler than any other vampire's skin, as pale as death. Her body was a little way off, joints broken, limbs snapped. Jane. Edward put a lighter to her twisted body, and I watched as the red and gold flames flickered, engulfing her in the fire. Her head, too, was set alight. _

_Jasper put an arm around me, as I looked at the scene of blood, and death. Vampires, broken and distorted, lay around me, burned beyond recognition. Pillars of smoke rose into the distance like shadowed knives. The sky was grey, and smoky. We had won. I saw werewolves, stuck between a phrase of human and wolf, dead like ruined puppets strewn carelessly on the ground. Blood mottled at their chests, scarlet against the fur. I glanced at one - I think it was Embry. Liquid that looked black pooled from his mouth._

_Angel was crying, her leg was at an odd angle. The flock, all looking like they had been put through a woodchipper, bent over her in a way that made me think several had splintered ribs. Fang's shirt was sliced; more blood spilled crimson over the front from where it looked as if he'd been stabbed in the stomach. 2 inches higher, and he'd be dead. __'Who's dead?' I asked Jasper. His honey-blonde hair was the colour of ashes. _

_'Not any of us Cullens,' he said in a voice like splintering ice, 'Rose almost died; they were inches from setting her alight. Then Emmett, well, you know...' he gestured to what looked like a head split cleanly in half on the ground. I think it was either Alec, or Heidi. It's hard to tell when the head more or less is crumbling in dust. __I saw Emmett holding Rose in a close embrace. _

_I sighed, and saw that some of the vampires, were crying tearlessly over burned remains. There was a large pile of bodies in robes, snapped twigs that I recognized to be wands. We had won - but as I watched Liam hold what was left of Siobhan, I wondered if it was worth it. _

00000000000000

_Outcome Two:_

_'I don't think she'll live, Alice.' _

_'She will, Carlisle. I've seen it.'_

_I looked at the hospital table. Max was lying like a motionless doll; her blonde-brown hair fanning in bloodstained locks all over the cold steel. Her face was drained of blood, she looked like a waxy, colourless sculpture. Her collar was drawn aside to show two puncture marks directly over the place where her pulse beat. __Not that it did, anymore. She was dead. __I had once been able to hear her heartbeat; the thrumming like a hummingbird's wings, running faster than a human's. The pounding race had been a sign she was alive; now, I heard nothing. _

_'She's been dead for five minutes, Alice. Felix bit her.' _

_'I've seen her as a vampire. Just - don't bury her, not yet. 10 more seconds,' I appealed. __Carlisle ran a hand through his pale blonde hair. The fact that the EMT heartbeat moniter was lifeless did not help matters. Not one spark justified that she was apart of the living anymore. _

_5 seconds. __4 seconds. __3 ... 2 ... 1. _

_I waited for the moniter to beep; nothing happened. 'Please, Carlisle,' I said, my voice breaking. Not in almost 100 years, had my voice wavered as a vampire. He shook his head, he hated the look on my face but there wasn't anything he could do about it. _

_'I'm sorry, Alice.' Carlisle went to take off the EMT. I was wrong. Never, since the day I saw my first vision, had I been wrong about anything. Never bet against Alice - it looked like the time where anybody would win against me had come. Beep. I looked at the monitor. On the straight line, a spark had detected a heartbeat. _

_Beep. _

_Within seconds, the EMT had found a faint heartbeat; barely existing, but the pulse was there nonetheless. It didn't stop, just small flickers but she wasn't dead. I gave Carlisle a triumphant look. He rolled his eyes. _

_'She'll really be dead in three days,' he warned. _

_'And then she'll be a vampire,' I replied. 'A vampire with wings. Well ...' I paused, 'that'll a new one.' _

_Carlisle sighed. 'She must be in pain,' Carlisle mused, 'but she's immobilised ... for now.' I wondered if this meant, that, in time Max would start screaming. Her__ breathing that sounded like air whistling down a swollen throat. Her eyes were still closed; but for a second, under the light, I could've sworn they were lavender, and glistening. _

00000000000000

_Outcome Three:_

_Once again, I walked on the battlefield. It was worse than my first vision. More bodies were strewn around; broken in a way that looked like a doll's that had been twisted until they snapped. Everyone was in pieces, reminding me of that sculpture in France that had been wrecked by vandals; so the beautiful thing was ruined beyond repair. _

_There was flames, ones that seemed like bonfires sending flames licking and flickering towards the sky. This time, the sky was not just grey and smokey. It was pitch black, as black as the night sky, or when you're in a room so dark you can't see your own hand in front of your face. We had lost; and we had lost badly. There were more werewolves dead, only Jacob, Quil and Seth were alive. _

_Still stuck between the phrase of half-wolf, half-human, they were morphed in an even more horribly disfigured way, this time, drenched in their own blood that had spilled everywhere, on everything. They looked like roadkill; 100 times worse from the canine fangs that had been ripped from their gums, to the clearly snapped spines. _

_Witches and wizards, as a pile of bodies were together, lifeless faces drained of blood, wands crushed into powder. Some were unmarked; victims of the Killing Curse, only their pale, almost colourless skin showed sign that they were dead. Some looked worse; one that looked like Tonks, judging from the sooty pink hair, looked like she had been torn - yes, torn - in half. _

_Emmett was holding a head; the golden blonde curls spilled from it like a waterfall. Oh, God, Rose. Then he went to a body, and I watched as Rose's neck knit together like she'd never been touched. She was alive - depending what your definition of "alive" was. __Edward went by my side, Bella was embracing Jacob, still standing, half of his body looked crushed._

_'Edward? Edward, where's Jasper?' His bronze hair was black with ash, and instead of smelling like sunlight, he smelt like smoke and metal. He didn't reply. 'Edward. Where. Is. My. Jasper?' He pointed to a body; the remains burned in a way that made my fingernails dig into my skin. From this far away, the body was twisted, mangled like a chew toy. _

_'Edward, that's not Jasper.' Why would he say that? I waited for Jas to come and put his arms around me; Jasper always put his arms around me like I was as fragile as glass, despite that he knew I was as strong as nails. 'Jasper!' My voice was high, and it wavered uncertainly. 'Jazzy?' He would come. Jasper always did. _

_But my unbeating heart seemed to have sunk somewhere in my stomach, as fear overtook everything else. I ran to the body, and almost fell over. I stepped back, my hands over my mouth in shock. Edward's arms went around me as I looked at the face of the body; the beautiful, scarred face crowned by honey-blonde hair. Jasper. _

_Oh, no, no, no. I pushed him off, with more strength than I thought I was capable of, running my fingers over the face that was a pale as death. Had I told Jasper that I loved him, one last time? I couldn't remember. I heard Bella's gasp, Esme's, Rosalie's. Emmett and Carlisle's murmurs. They all seemed meaningless now. Jasper was gone and nothing else mattered._

00000000000000

My eyes opened back to reality, fear gripping around my unbeating heart like a vice. Never had I been so scared. Jasper, Jasper, Jasper. 'What's wrong, Ali?' he asked, alerted by what must've been fright glittering in my eyes. His face was etched with worry. I took a minute to compose myself, breathing an unnecessary breath that would never be any use to me. I smiled at him, a reassuring, fake smile. I don't think he was fooled for a second.

'Nothing. Nothing at all.'

* * *

**A/N: It just occured to me we've been here for 27 chapters now! I think there will be maybe five or six more ... to everyone in Australia, happy Australia day! :) **


	28. Flightless Birds

**Flightless Birds. **

_Many, many years previously:_

_"Are you certain you wish to leave the Volturi?"_

_Carlisle Cullen raised his head. His pale gold hair glinted under the skylight of the Volturi castle, the precise colour of sunlight. His shadow almost reached the Volturi guard, poised to attack in the space that was even quicker than a flash of lightning. However, Carlisle was not afraid - he believed Aro would not allow his guard to rip him apart and set the pieces alight like a great bonfire. _

_The pillar of smoke would be seen high above the square. Jane smiled with a childlike innocence that did not match her fathomless, cold red eyes. There was not one hint of anything human in them. _

_"Yes," he said with a confidence that made several of the guard bare their teeth in a gleaming, menacing snarl. "I believe it is time for me to move forwards." He had seen enough to last him for a lifetime - however long that may be. __Aro Volturi leaned forwards. His eyes were alight in a kind of curiousity, almost an expectation. His face was emotionless, yet the way he held his mouth made Carlisle think that he was angry. The guard saw it too - Demetri and Felix leaned forwards as well. _

_"You are always welcome back, Carlisle. You are always a dear friend of mine." Several of the guard looked disappointed, but Heidi gave a red-lipped smile that was as glistening as blood. He knew she held a fondness for him somewhere in her unbeating heart. He wasn't sure what kind of fondness, but he thought maybe there were several good reasons for leaving the Volturi. Heidi was beautiful, it was true, but she did not care for humans. He could not live in a place that saw humans as food, and nothing more. _

_"Thank you, Aro. Caius, Marcus. I shall also always consider you as friends." Carlisle turned to the guard - someone always escorted guests. They looked back at him with omnious expressions, though Felix managed to crack a smile. Little Jane's eyes pale lavender eyelids closed in an way that made him think she was interally battling with her true feelings of hatred - he'd thought he'd see her as almost a daughter, but he was wrong about that - and danced forwards to escort him out of the castle. Hmm. He'd always a daughter. Or a son. Or several._

0000000

**Mid-afternoon:**

**Max P.O.V:**

'Alice, are you sure?'

Her voice was like splintering ice as she glared at Edward. As Alice was only about 4'10, but her cold glare made her seem to tower over her brother. 'Yes.' That one word had enough venom to poison an elephant.

Edward's gold eyes gleamed with a fierce intensity. Alice had been acting like she'd been forced out of her own little world and into focus, which was very un-Alice-like. She was with Jasper all time like she was afraid of loosing him, or he'd disappear. You always imagine him with her: Jasper and Alice; Alice and Jasper.

It doesn't work any other way because it is the only way. However, this time it seemed like Alice never wanted to let him go - not even go out of her sight. I knew that made him worried. Jasper cared about Alice more than anyone. She would laugh and call him overprotective, but now it was like role-reversal. And yes, if you were wondering, it was confusing the heck out of me.

My only guess was that she'd seem something that involved him, and did not like what she saw. So, in effect, she was always there. 'Less than a week, Alice? I thought it was on the night of full moon!' Edward ran a hand in agitation through his bronze hair so it stuck up in a random disarray. Full moon was in a fortnight - Alice had assumed that they were going by the lunar calendar (something about Divination), but when her vision said otherwise, it had caused her eyes to darken blacker than anything I'd ever seen.

'Yeah, well, that happens,' Alice snapped, in a way that didn't sound even a little like her. There was a chilly silence from her family - it was just the Cullens and flock (sans Nudge) in the room; that was frostier than a snow-capped mountain. Alice was hardly ever nasty. I could almost feel the cold, sharp tension in the air. Jasper spoke in a calm voice.

'Well, hadn't we all get ready?' He pointed out in that placating way of his. Before she could ask, he took Alice's hand and carted her outside like she weighed about as much as a feather. I knew Jasper never liked to use his gift on Alice, but I found myself wishing he would break that rule.

As soon as she was out of the room, Emmett asked, 'what is _her _problem?' He didn't say it in a rude way, he sounded surprised.

'Stress,' Edward answered in a chilled tone that matched Alice's. His tone meant any more questions in that direction would be unwelcome; and everyone got the very unsubtle hint with much obviousness. Everyone looked away awkwardly. There was a few moments of deathly silence, before Esme, thawing the coldness, asked if anyone wanted to help her make a flower arrangment.

Everyone enthusiastically rose to the challenge of making freesias look good with orange Gerber daisies. I had no idea where she got all the flowers, but it was Carlisle who made the bouquet look worthy of the Queen of England's dining room. Then Nudge came in, ten minutes later, brandishing a neon-purple dipped paintbrush and began babbling.

'We're painting the catapault!' she screeched like a banshee. Neon purple spots flicked into Angel's curls. Now that I thought about it, it was almost the same colour as Rosalie's - which seems unfair that two people in the world can have such flawlessly golden hair. When the rest of us have mud-brown hair. 'Mad-Eye wanted to camoflauge it, but Dumbledore said I could make it multicoloured! It's gonna have purple swirls and green spots and pink lovehearts and -'

'Orange butterflies?' asked Iggy with a mocking, amused smile.

'Oh, my God, Iggy, you can paint the butterflies!' Nudge cried, her face lighting up like the Fourth of July. 'I was thinking not quite neon orange, but maybe a burnt amber colour. Butterscotch?' Fang and Gazzy snickered at Iggy's appalled, confused expression. I tried to conceal a smile before remembering that he couldn't see me grin.

'Of course, Nudge,' I said, grabbing her arm (which was waving to prove the great importance of the burnt amber butterflies) so Ange's hair wasn't bright purple for the rest of her life.

When we went outside, Alice was painting the catapault neon violet. Jasper was standing a little way back, looking horrified at the outrageously bright colour. But he was looking fondly at Alice so I assumed everything was O.K. I learnt long ago that Jasper doesn't look at anyone but Alice fondly.

Nudge beamed at the colossal tin of fluro purple; brighter than any neon paint that there ever was. I mentally sighed and hoped Edward or Angel didn't hear that. 'Hi!' she said. 'Jazzy took me to art store and I got some things.'

She gave a "Good Morning America" perky smile that I associated with those platform wedge heels she got me. I was suddenly Team Jasper's Brainwaves for making her so cheerful in about 10 minutes flat. Go Jas. Then I saw her "things". Decorations - a LOT of them. Multicoloured pots of paint, aerosol cans, glitter, stickers, sharpie markers, chalk, shoe polish.

All the most colourful things that has ever been on a paint chart. Some things were named things like on that 24-pack of colouring crayons that cost about $20 back in the early ninties. Like Giraffe Orange and Red Velvet and Teal Aqua. Suddenly I kind of wished Jasper's ideas were more normal and less sparkly. Nudge grinned as Alice produced a 10-sheet packet of orange butterfly stickers. Yep. I would never doubt her again.

We spent a good hour decorating the catapault. The only way I can think of describing it is like a bright purple (mutant) bug. It sparkled with what was quite literally an explosion of glitter and paint, like when someone throws a paint balloon in your face and you get colours _everywhere_. Red, gold, blue, green, pink. Admist the glitter was stickers of things like flowers and rainbows and shit, and then butterflies on the bomb launcher. Oh, my God, it was so freakishly bright even Iggy could probably see it.

Dumbledore and some of the Order and Co materialized. Most looked appalled, but Dumbledore was delighted. Anyone else that eccentric would be tagged a "freak" but Dumbledore was what you would call original. Like, right now he was wearing a wizard's hat spangled with stars - undoubtably an Alice creation.

'Max? Max? Max?' I gave a careful glare, until I realised it was Gas. His face was lit up as bright as a skylight. 'Can I? Can I please, Max? Please?' Wait, what? Then I realised by his thrilled expression that I accossiated with too much carnival fairy floss that he meant he wanted to be launched. I was about to shriek, "NO" but then I looked at him. Was I really going to rain on an eight-year-old's parade?

'Yes! Wait, no! Yes. Fine, whatever.' I knew he was taken aback that I'd agreed. His face split into a grin that would've melted a stronger person's cold heart. 'Maybe a helmet ...?' I added lamely. Half-hearted because I knew that would be ignored. You can imagine my surprise when Bella gave him a motorcycle helmet that looked like it could stop a speeding bullet. Gas sat in the launcher, wings that were mottled white like rippling fans.

'Are you sure this is a good idea?' Nudge said. In our world, the phrase, "_what's the worst that can happen?" _is only ever asked once, and then never again. Once you spend time waiting for the worst possible thing to happen - and then it often does worse than even the most twisted imagination could dream up - you are never that confident for as long as you live. Plenty of things could happen.

'Probably not,' I agreed. 'I'll fly up to make sure he doesn't fall out of the sky.' I opened my wings; feeling the wind rippling through the speckled feathers. I took a running start - I didn't want to crash into a pine tree and get spiky needles in my feathers. I flew higher and higher, until I could see the twisted blue of the river, and a bit of glittering catapault. "LAUNCH!" somebody shouted. There was a shout, and I saw a speck of mottled white wings gleaming like a star against the pale blue sky. Then - OW!

Something pierced my arm like a lightning bolt. Pain, indescrible pain, flashed through my arms. I screamed, it was like a white-hot iron was being branded onto my skin, over and over again. I looked down to see a jagged needle sticking out of my forearm, right into my veins. Blood welled up around it. Then blackness, pitch black as everything fell away. And, just like when that Bludger hit me, I was falling, falling right out of the sky.

0000000000

**Earlier that same day:**

**Harry:**

We'd been walking for hours now. Renesmee was asleep on my back - she might be indestructible, but she was still a little girl. The sun was gold on the horizon, so you could just see flecks of red and bronze. The nights seemed to draw together, as if there was no sunlight in between.

We were somewhere in the middle; a Death Eaters following us like a horde of black wasps. They were conversing really quietly; shooting us malovent looks. I didn't know where we were - if I'd ask, Bellatrix would accidentally-on-purpose stab me in the leg with her spike-heeled boots. All I could see was bits of light through the branches.

'Stop,' a voice commanded, and all the dragging footsteps dulled piteously. Narcissa Malfoy strolled forwards - well, she didn't look like a piece of art. Her blonde hair looked like she had walked through one of those thorny rose bushes.

Renesmee's eyes fluttered and looked imperiously up at Narcissa with a look that was nothing more than hatred. 'Not to sound cliché,' she said grandly, and Narcissa raised an eyebrow in confusion, 'but are we there yet?' Shock marred Narcissa's pale face, and I tried not to laugh at the superior, dismissive look Nessie cast at Narcissa.

'Soon,' she said coldly - her snappishness returned. 'Eat.' She handed me and Ness an egg-salad sandwich each with her black-painted nails. Nessie looked at the sandwich in a way that was coldly disgusted. Narcissa gave her a thermos - probably of chilled blood, because Narcissa also wore a disgusted expression.

'Thanks,' Nessie said darkly, and as if to prove her point, took a sip from the chilly thermos, all while looking sweetly menacing. Narcissa shuddered and stepped back as fast as humanely possible. Ness smiled with exaggerated innocence and bit into her sandwich. When Narcissa's back was turned, she pulled a face and gave me the rest of her egg-salad sandwich.

'You don't like it, huh?'

'It's _so_ gross,' she whispered. For the first time in a very long time, I laughed at her quietly appalled tone, the tone I never would've imagined a little girl could hold. It had so much contempt - that I couldn't help but laugh. It was a three-year-old getting a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle instead of a prom edition Barbie, and had been unable to be falsely grateful. Her eyes widened, and I shut my mouth.

'You should laugh more often,' she said as Bellatrix commanded ungraciously that we kept walking and the dragging lull of footsteps began once more. Nessie walked a little slowly behind me, her bronze hair shimmering. 'You don't look so ...' she struggled to find a word.

'Depressed?' I suggested lamely.

'I was thinking more "morbid". Very The Addams Family. But when you smile, you don't look like that.'

I smiled. 'I'll keep that in mind, Ness.'

0000000000

**Gasman:**

"Bombs away!" I shouted, just like in those action movies. Then I was flying through the air; the breeze rippling my feathers like massive fans. Adrenheline soared through my veins - it was such an rush. After a while, I coasted, between two sweeping pines with jagged branches that stuck oddly into the sky. Kinda like piercing knives, but greenish. I looked for Max.

Hey, where was she? Then I heard a scream that seemed to vibrate and echo around the trees. I think it was a Max scream, but it was a little hard to tell. Because Max hardly ever shrieks like that. I looked around, I looked everywhere, but I couldn't see her, and I couldn't see anything except for the endless blue-grey sky. But it was her scream, a scream of pure terror and pain, but she was nowhere to be found.

I flew back as fast as I could. Instead of adrehenline racing through my veins, it was panic that seemed to grasp a fist around my heart. If I was this upset, I couldn't even imagine what the others would be like and didn't even want to comprehend this.

And I don't even know what comprehend means.

0000000000

**Alice:**

_A white hot iron burned my arm, piercingly sharp, over and over. The pain was incredible, incomparable - like being stabbed in the heart and jabbed in the back at once. I screamed, and then there was blackness, no colour, no life, anywhere at all. I could feel myself falling like a weight in water, unable to move, unable to blink and see the sky. Arms caught me before I hit the ground and crumpled like a broken puppet, limbs dangling lifelessly, and then a flash of light as the scene of a forest fell away beneath my feet. Like I had disappeared. _

'ALICE!'

Jasper's voice was near my ear, beautiful but panicked. I realised that not only was I screaming in my premonition, but I was screaming out loud; a tinkling, terrified scream that I didn't even know I was capable of. 'I'm OK,' I said breathlessly, that same fear clutching in the pit of my stomach, 'but Max ... Max ...'

'Breathe, Al,' Jasper demanded, and I took an unnecessary breath to settle that pounding in my ears that wasn't from my heart. 'What's happened to Max?' The thrumming began, the same panic resting in my throat that made it difficult to breathe even though I didn't have to - like a human trying to force air past their closed lips. I was shaking, I found. Why didn't I see this _sooner_?

'It's Max ...'

'Alice!' Another voice cried, panic thrumming in every syllable. It was Gazzy, his voice sounding cold and frightened. 'She's gone ... she's gone ... Max ...' His wings were still drifting loosely behind him like fans, and seemed to shake even though it was not as windy. 'I heard her scream,' he babbled, 'and I looked everywhere, but I couldn't see her - she was there one minute and gone the next.' Fear rang even more terribly in his voice.

If I could've cried, I would've then. I was meant to protect her, but like the human life I had so disappointingly, almost heartbreakingly lost without even knowing I had, I had failed miserably. Stupid visions! I felt my fingers curl into claws, digging into my scalp feeling spikes of black hair on my skin. And then Jasper's arms around me, though I wanted to push him away.

The countdown had ended.

And it was all my fault.

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**Harry:**

**Five minutes after:**

'She's here!' Bellatrix's voice was cold, but rapturous. Her black fathomless eyes lit up. I prayed for divine intervention - that it was not some coldhearted, merciless being from the depths of hell, or something similar. The Death Eaters parted - for the first time in days, many were smiling with chilly, disturbing excitement.

Then I heard a voice, a familar voice that I had wished that I would never hear by my side when I was with inner circle of Satan against my will - anybody's will that you can possibly imagine. 'Get the hell off me,' the voice snarled. The first thing I saw was wings; mottled shades like a hawk's feathers, pure white streaked with tan and caramel, clipped together like a flightless birds'.

They were beautiful, but it seemed terrible all at once. Then a pair of dark brown eyes, glinting with a cold hatred. Nessie smiled a dazzling smile that could stop traffic, as Max was thrown into our captured presence. Her teeth were bared in a snarl I doubted she even knew was there, but her expression softened a little when she saw Nessie.

"Max!" Renesmee cried, her face lighting up like a kid's on Christmas morning.

xoxoxo

'You look like crap,' Max told me at nightfall. Renesmee was asleep on her back, nestled amongst her wings. Max kept giving those looks of glittering, cold hatred to anyone who looked at her, and after a while, they never looked twice because the look she gave them was pure venom. I didn't blame them one bit - she looked scary.

'You don't look so fantastic yourself,' I told her ruefully - I knew I looked like someone who had spent most of their life seeing the worst things imaginable, and even the evil, terrible, twisted things you couldn't possibly imagined. She had filled me in, everything Alice had predicted, but then she surprisingly faltered.

'Spit it out,' I demanded.

'Alice-said-that-the-war-beings-in-less-than-a-week.'

It took me a minute to figure out her strung-together words - that seemed blurry and incomprehensible. When I did, I felt a piercing fear in my heart and a surge of nausea. It must've shown on my face, because I felt all the blood draining from it.

'A week!?' My voice was raw and pained.

'I know.' She stared at the pitch-black sky - the only light was coming from the moon. 'The war is coming. We have to be prepared for it - because if we're not, we'll die.'

* * *

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to LASMKE and 4-letterword, two amazing fanfiction authors who recently passed away. I never read either of their stories, but I know that they meant a lot to many people, and many shall miss their inspiration and love. RIP.**

**Also, I read "FANG" today, the sixth installation in the Maximum Ride series. It wasn't great; but I am anticipating further books in the series. You cannot just leave a cliffhanger like that. Also, I really do not like Angel. At all. **


	29. Mad as Rabbits

_"The war is coming. We have to be prepared for it. If not, we die."_

**Alice:**

_'Why are you so intent upon saving them, Alice Cullen?'_

_The voice was high - a merciless, icy tone. It sent shivers down my spine, but I held my own. 'Why are you so intent on a war, Voldemort?' I replied. There was a deathly silence - for the first time, I knew that silence did in fact have a sound. Then there was humourless laughter - only amused because he thought I was wrong._

_'You are such a delight, Miss Cullen,' Voldemort's tone was still cold, yet self-deprecating. 'You could be a Death Eater.' His face was shrouded, so I could see was the dark smile that didn't exactly grace his face, more like etch across it in a way that makes you take a step back warily._

_'No, thank you,' I said, and the smile faded. I couldn't see it, but I knew he'd be glaring. _

_'But why not?' Voldemort insisted with strained coolness, I could tell he was angry. 'You would be beyond perfect, Alice.' Dumbledore had shown me memories of him as a teenager with that clever, quiet charm. _

_'I don't think I would be as ... uh ... fitting for the job description.' _

_'Maybe you just need the right incentive,' Voldemort's composition broke. He lifted his face, so all I could see was fathomless eyes, like bottomless pits. They were like chips of ice, frozen, with nothing human in them at all. Even for vampires, our eyes shifted colour, his were totally dead. _

_'Whatever you can offer, I don't need the "incentive".' I turned away, not wanting to look at those fathomless, soulless, empty eyes any longer. They were so horrible. Nothing in the world, not even coloured eyeliner, could make them more human. _

_'Your husband is going to die. Do you need another incentive?' I whirled then, and saw Voldemort give a smile that would've turned my blood to ice.'Wouldn't you do anything - _anything at all - _to save him?'_

_'Are you implying something? If you have an something to say, then say it outloud,' I said venomously, still barely believing I had a enough nerve to speak to him like that. _

_'If you join the Death Eaters, we will ensure he will live.'_

_'And if I'm a Death Eater, will I ever see him again?' I said, and I could feel my voice rising with the tension. _

_'That's negotiable, Ms. Cullen,' he said and grinned. It was out of character, but when he did, it revealed dangerously, surprisingly pointed teeth. I didn't even realise I had been holding my breath. It was unnecessary to hold my breath when I didn't even need to breathe, yet that unsettling nerve - that pointless human trait was there._

_'I think I'll take my chances,' I said with forced cheerfulness. Voldemort's grin, once again, faded but shrugged in an unfazed, cool manner. _

_'It's his funeral, my dear.' He sounded unconditionally smug._

_I had a lot to say about that, but instead, I walked away. I could almost hear the cold laughter ringing in my ears, but not once did I look back into those merciless eyes. I didn't need to._

* * *

**Early the next morning, 6:30 am. **

**Edward:**

'They should be here soon.' Alice looked out of the glass windows. Jasper was already there, a faraway look in his eyes. He was staring dreamily off into space, not paying attention. She made a movement like she was going to join him, and then seemed to think better of it.

Everyone else were in random places, places that fit like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, even though I didn't quite know who was where. I think some might even be on the roof, watching the sun rise - for maybe the last time in their life.

'Are we ready?' I asked her.

'They finished the battlefield this morning,' Alice said, and I was shocked to hear how helpless she sounded. Her voice, instead of being carelessly tinkling, was ragged and tired. _It's been a long week, Edward. _

Angel shot me her surprised, even startled look. Then, very strangely, she came and gave Alice a hug. This was an interesting development. I always thought Angel was the type of girl who stood alone. Alice hugged her back.

Nudge, who had been flicking feverishly through a magazine, grinned. 'Alice - look at these shoes!' Her voice was almost a delighted shriek. Alice looked over at a pair of high heels made of some kind of leather - very ridiculously Alice. She gave a smile, and together they burst into a long, pointless conversation about shoes. Well, if it made Alice happy.

I walked over to where Jasper was standing. His wintery-pale face was almost pressed against the tinted glass. 'Are we _really_ ready?' I said, so silently there was no chance Alice could hear me over her ecstatic shrieks. Jasper gently banged his head against the frame. Actually, the glass should've shattered into a million tiny pieces, but it didn't.

'God,' he murmured, 'I don't know. Even Alice doesn't know - and she's the person you turn to when you're completely hopeless. I gave him a narrow-eyed look. 'Yeah, I know. You needed a bit of reassurance. _We all need freaking reassurances_.' Even Jasper has adopted Max's version of swearing. 'But I can't give you any.'

'I _know _that much,' I said, and Jasper's mouth curled into a slight smile. 'The three people who are most important to everyone in this room, the ones we weren't supposed to let out of our sight, well, guess what, we let them out of our sight. I think we failed them. So, basically, with all that in perspective, are we, for use of a better word, screwed?'

Jasper looked shocked, which is rare for him. The one vampire who never bats an eyelid at Alice's ridiculous, over the top schemes, who never shook his head in everyone else's offhand, dismissive way at Rosalie's mood swings. Now his eye twitched a little. I guess "screwed" isn't, as a general thing, part of my vocabulary.

'I think,' he mused, 'we are _almost _screwed. I was completely, utterly, and undeniably screwed 90 or so years ago, but then Alice picked me out of a crowd, because she had known all along who to be looking for, and she helped me out of the gutter like I was some human drug addict who needed help, badly, but had no-one to turn to. I thought I was screwed. But she gave me hope.'

'Are you saying there's hope for us?'

He was silent for a long, long while. 'Maybe,' he said nonchalantly, glancing over at Alice's face which was lit up like when she opened a glossy box of the most insanely high shoes imaginable. He smiled, comfortably. Then the smile slid off his face like butter.

Alice's face had gone from being lit up to ... something very different. Her eyes were wide, very faraway like the walls were invisible, and she could see into that aimless space. Not like Jasper's dreamy look, hers was sharp, focused, except she was concentrating on something no-one else could see.

Her mouth fell open, and I tried to prob her mind. It was blurry almost like something imaginary - something you could picture but wasn't quite real. Yet it was horribly unmistakable. Then the vision ended, and we both stared at each other in shock.

'What?' Jasper almost shouted.

'They're here,' Alice's wind-chime voice trembled, 'they're here_ now_. No! No, no, no, no, no!' Her high-pitched voice was on the verge of a wailing, she sounded terrified. 'Why didn't I see it earlier? God, what is _wrong _with me?' Now she sounded like she would've burst into a flood of tears, if she could.

'How soon?' Jasper demanded. His fingers dug painfully into her shoulders, but it was only because he loved her so much that he was willing to shake her out of her dazed stupor like that. She turned away, and for the first time, she actually shoved him away. Or tried to. Alice might have what Max once called "the unholy strength of the damned" but she was no way going to budge Jasper even an inch.

'20 minutes,' she breathed.

Jasper's face went completely blank, almost emotionless, except for his twitching eye. 'Oh, _crap_.'

00000000000000000

'Almost here,' Alice's eyes were as dark as the sky, when it looked like all the stars had extinguished. But her mouth was set. Everyone was standing in a way that looked too stiff, all like statues, so the slightest noise, like a crunchy leaf being stepped on, or the wind through the trees or even someone whistling tunelessly made everyone cringe in a kind of dull expectation.

'Not too worry,' Dumbledore said brightly. Everyone gave him a pointed look, and Nudge was almost at breaking point. There was suddenly a silence - almost deafeningly soundless. Nothing made a noise, not leaves, or wind, or birds. And then, they materialized. Like a horde of wasps, they were nearly strikingly, immediately _there_.

They all held the same pagentry as the Volturi, swarms of Death Eaters in cloaks masking their lifeless features, the blood-red of the Volturi, bright against the shockingly pale skin. Aro, Marcus and Caius lead the way like royalty, twisted, manipulated kings followed by their sycophantic guard, who were not only helpless, but naive, narrow-minded and somehow unevolved.

A figure shadowed in a pitch-black cloak led the Death Eaters, his footsteps sounding hollowed and empty on the forest floor. Then came a sea of mutants, all walking unnaturally, uncomfortably, a sea of plain, almost colourless clothes. I wondered if, for a second, Alice had miscalculated. There were far, far more than she had anticipated.

More than any of us had.

Dumbledore took a step forward, as did the man in the cloak. When he revealed his face, most minds went blank. All faces were expressionless, but most eyes were widened, either in surprise or closely veiled horror, it was difficult to say. If I had not seen his face in Dumbledore's mind, I would've flinched back myself.

His face was bone-white, with eyes like black pits, empty and unfeeling, darker than the most thirsty vampire, and slits for pupils. He was bald, with no nose, like he had been mutilating himself for years. Angel almost shrieked as she took in his appearance.

There was a long, long silence - so long that for a moment, I thought nobody was going to break it.

'Tom,' Dumbledore said. I wondered who he was talking to, but then Voldemort looked beyond furious.

'Dumbledore,' he said coldly. 'I do not go by that petty Muggle name. I have not for a long, long time. And more else, you_ know it_.'

'Old habits die hard, _Tom_,' Dumbledore said, in a way that was kinder than Voldemort deserved, but I could tell by the way he enunciated Voldemort's mere, trival "Muggle" name, he was purposefully crossing the line further. Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

'It doesn't have to be like this, Dumbledore,' Voldemort's voice was still chilly, yet somehow persuasive. You could be swayed by the lulling tone. 'Let us take the half-vampire and the winged girl. I will take their blood, and they will return like nothing ever happened.' He spoke of my daughter and Max so carelessly, as if they both only served a single purpose and could be so easily disposed of, like rubbish. Like they didn't have names.

'And Harry Potter,' his face twisted, 'well, I can hardly say he will return. He still poses a threat.' Then he smiled coldly, and cruelly, once more. 'I just want one more thing - and with this single, spectacular gift, so many lives could be saved. Not all would have to die.'

Voldemort spectulated this, almost consideringly, like we had a choice. 'Well, _two_ things. I assume Miss Alice and Mr. Jasper are a package deal? A two-for-one-type special?' He laughed his icy, humourless laugh.

Alice. What seemed like a thousand eyes looked at her. I finally understood her helplessness, the way her glassy eyes stared right through you as if you didn't exist. Her throwaway thought, "_it's been a long week_", a pitiful, easy excuse I had accepted.

Had Voldemort offered her this in a vision, to save hundreds of lives for the price of her, like she was some prize, an object to be adorned? An ornament standing dutifully at his side, and Jasper, too, because even though Jasper was gifted, Alice would not leave without him. And she had refused.

'Ali?' Jasper murmured. In a very Bella-like, yet pointless way, she sunk her teeth into her blood-red lip. She looked away, refusing to meet everyone's searching looks.

'I'm sorry, I can't agree to that. And I can see Alice refused as well.' Voldemort opened his lipless, rather snake-like mouth, but before he could respond, Dumbledore finished in a somewhat grand declaration, 'And where is Max, Harry and Renesmee?' Voldemort sneered.

Aro Volturi stepped forth, with Marcus, Caius and a plain, dull, colourless woman, so obviously human you could pick her out of a sea of vampires like trying to find a green apple in a pile of red ones. I didn't recognise her, but the flock did.

_Her name is Anne Walker, she's with Itex. _Angel's thoughts blossomed like a flower in my head, before falling away. _Anne is like a bug. You know, those ones that are so horrible that if you were one, you couldn't resist stamping on yourself?_

Then Bellatrix Lestrange came forth, dragging a little girl along by her hand. The little girl was struggling indelicately, her bronze curls quivering. She looked around with brown eyes spilling tears. 'Let go,' she shrieked, her voice filling the clearing. A rush of venom pulsed through my veins. Red almost coloured my vision, I had never been so angry. Bellatrix threw her hand away in disgust.

'No need to be so crazy,' Max said snarkily, flicking her hair so it thrashed a coil across Bellatrix's face. Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, and Max smiled like she hadn't left the red whipped marks on purpose. Harry, behind her, looked like he would laugh if it wouldn't be so stupid. Max put an arm around Nessie on the right, Harry on the left, acting like barriers, fences - you'd have to go through them to get Renesmee. They all looked like they'd be put through the mill.

'Are these three people why so many shall suffer their inevitable downfall?' Voldemort commented. 'A mutant, a half-vampire anomaly and a boy?'

'Why would you want them, Tom?'

'Do you not know, Dumbledore?' Voldemort looked as if he was going to genuinely laugh, but had probably long lost the ability to so much as smile without it being dead, numb, humourless, and cold. 'Have you not heard? Those whispers, those rumours meant nothing to you? That, to find three rarities, special, one-of-a-kind, unique, apart from the rest of their species, and to take their blood, and drink it?

That it will create everlasting, imperishable, untouchable life? That nothing, no spell, no curse, no evil can take away that life? That, by drinking the blood of this mutant, this half-vampire, this "Chosen One", that I will live forever? I, and the Volturi shall rule until the world burns, a single, unkillable dynasty?

As I already said - let us take the blood, and no innocents' shall be spilled.'

'I've heard every whisper, every rumour and above all, every shadow of a doubt,' Dumbledore replied grandly. 'It is true Max, Renesmee and Harry are what they are called "special", and everything that is said about them could not be closer to the truth - every rumour has a basis in fact, you know.

The rumour their blood gives everlasting life - a life where you cannot lose limbs no matter who may rip them, who will not recieve wounds if burned, that no curse will blemish them - may be true as well. But nobody can live forever- especially a life where you cannot feel anything at all. No human emotion. But your emotion disappeared a long time ago, isn't that right?'

Dumbledore had a point. I was going to live forever, until the world burned, as it inevitably would do so in who knows how many millions, or billions, of years. But I could lose limbs, be burned by fire, blemished by curses. I could still feel human emotion - the love I felt for my wife, my daughter, my family, my friends. I could not bear being able to feel nothing - absolutely nothing at all - like being numbed by Alec - for eternity.

'I need no emotion, Dumbledore. Why be loved, when you can be feared? Why feel loved, when you can feel hatred? Love wins nothing,' Voldemort smirked.

'You are not going to get the blood of Renesmee, Harry and Maximum,' Dumbledore said, 'you will not spear them, spike them, stab them or slice them - you will not lay any weapon that may take their blood on them at all.'

'So - we shall fight?' Aro Volturi said, smiling simplistically, but with a rather morbid air.

'I'm afraid it has come to that.'

Everyone seemed to tense - many, I knew, had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that it would not come to this. That Alice's predictions had failed her - they relied too much on the fact that her visions were perfectly imperfect, could sometimes change with the slightest thought, the smallest gesture. They were wrong.

'Wait,' Anne Walker said, her cold voice seemingly piercing through the hush that stretched through the clearing, ' my mutants will not take part in this - warfare, this fight, whatever it may be. It is not our war to win, or our war to suffer through, there is nothing special in it for us, and nothing has been given to us except for the fear of the blood-drinkers and those who aren't even human anymore. Not even close to it. We will decline.'

'That,' Caius said, giving a blood-chilling smirk, 'is unfortunate.' Alice gave an almost imperceptible flinch. There was sound like paper being shredded, only there was something more human about it - like unmarbled flesh being torn apart, ripped off, and Anne's ruined, decapitated body fell to the floor like a bowling pin. All the mutants stared at the blood that began pouring from every chunk in her body, the bright red liquid trickling from her neat suit. 'She was quite-'

**BOOM!**

I watched as a fireball of the cocktail exploded where the mutants were, something that seemed to burn the pine needles into smoldering piles of ashes, leaving trails of flickering flames like gasoline was spilled there. Body parts of mutants - electric wires and fibre-optic cables, flaming and charred, fell around like fallen flies hit by insect killer. Some seemed to be wallowing, half-broken and destroyed in cracks in the earth. Some staggered back at the force, Voldemort's mouth fell open, showing pointed teeth.

'Oops,' The Gasman proclaimed, as all hell broke loose.

**_A/N: How I envision the beginning of the battle: a circular field, surrounded by pine trees almost in the middle of the forest. On the left, the (for this purpose, let's call them this) Light Side, and on the right, the Dark Side. The Dark Side's formation is clear, all the leaders at the front with their "army" behind the, _**

**_The Light Side's front row is Edward, Jasper, Emmett, Alice, Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, Hagrid, Ron, Hermione, Kingsly Shacklebolt, Jacob. _****_The second row is Nudge, Fang, Iggy, Angel, Gazzy, [The Amazon Coven] Zafrina, Kachiri, Senna; Lupin, Tonks, Bill Weasley, Fleur Delacour, [The Denali Coven] Tanya, Kate, Carmen, Eleazar, Garrett; Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, Bella. _**

**_The others are [Witches and Wizards] Andromeda Tonks, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Fred and George, Elphias Dodge, Emmeline Vance, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Aberforth Dumbledore, Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones, Augusta Longbottom, Sturgis Podmore; _****_[Vampires] The Egyptian Coven (Amun, Kebi, Benjamin and Tia), The Irish Coven (Siobhan, Maggie and Liam), The Romanian Coven (Stefan and Vladimir), The American Nomads (Peter and Charlotte) and the European Nomad/s (Alistar). _**

**_The wolves are the final row, Sam, Quil, Embry, Colin, Brady, Paul, Jared, Leah and Seth._**


	30. Nameless

Max:

At first, everything seemed to move slowly. Everyone seemed to run at each other, swarming into a crowd. The vampire's teeth glistened in the sunlight, bared as Liam sunk his teeth deep into Felix's neck.

'Ness, run!' I screamed.

'I've got her!' Harry yelled, snatching her hand. They fled almost as fast as lightning. I whirled. Everything seemed to move slowly, and then speed up. Emmett, Jasper and Edward were holding Demetri like he was a butterfly pinned to a board, as Alice wrapped her fingers around his neck. Then I saw Bellatrix, behind Rosalie, wand pointed at the back of her head.

Unthinkingly, I dug my fingernails into her throat, and she shrieked in pain. Rosalie turned, and before I could twist her spine back, Rosalie's fist went through Bellatrix's chest, crushing her ribs, lungs and heart into a powder. Bellatrix made a gurgling sound.

'_That_,' Rosalie snarled at Bellatrix as a fountain of blood poured from her mouth, 'is for hurting my niece.' Her eyes flitted to the blood that pooled around Bellatrix. I think she knew Bellatrix's blood would probably choke her, that poisonous witch, but it was still blood.

'Rosalie ...' Her gold eyes flickered, but were entranced by the blackish blood matting Bellatrix's dark hair. I tried again. 'Rosalie ... Rose, don't.' Her golden-blonde hair quivered like it had a life of its own. She pressed her hand against her nose and mouth, her eyelids snapping shut like curtains. She turned away.

'Thank you, Max.' She gave a dazzling smile that could stop traffic. At that moment, almost in the second it took for Siobhan, Liam and Maggie to break Alec like a fragile vase, I realised something. Rosalie always seemed - cold to me. Dead on the inside, and outside. Beauty frozen solid. But she wasn't at all. She kept the people she loved the most closest to her heart, and barely let other people in because ... of all things, Rosalie Hale was afraid it would hurt _them_.

'You're welcome, Rose.' She gave another small smile, before finding Emmett. He looked like, incredibly so, that he was having fun. A little kid that got away with taking the last cookie from the cookie jar, or scribbling on the walls with colouring crayons.

Rose looked at him fondly, and together, they made a Death Eater fall like a cracked tenpin. Almost like Alice and Jasper, they were in sync, reading each other's moves before they acted. Like partners, husband and wife, best friends.

Where was _my _best friend?

I looked around, hoping that I wouldn't fit pieces of Fang on the floor.

He was kicking ass. A Death Eater's hood had fallen, and would've revealed his face. If his face was not marred, and barely recognizable by the array, the masses of bleeding wounds. His snapped wand was crushed like a bug. He'd hardly made a scratch on Fang. Like, not even a freakin' papercut.

Another Death Eater was behind him, wand sparking. I kicked his spine, and he crumpled to his knees, like a paper doll that was folded out of shape. Fang turned, taking my hand so I would have momentum to bash someone's nose like it was made of eggshells.

'Fang-' I said, 'there isn't really going to be another time to tell you this, but -' A Death Eater sent a hex my way, sparks that made a tree splinter as if it was made of cardboard, 'I'm really -' The Death Eater ran at me, brandishing his wand like a sword and I snapped a kick that threw his head back with a horrible cracking sound of broken glass, 'sorry. I was being too harsh even if you were a jackass. I should hate you, but I don't.' Now a vampire rushed at us, teeth gleaming.

'I'm sorry, too,' Fang said, moving out of the way of the bone-thin teeth that threatened to sink deep into his flesh. Vampires have bodies like steel - you punch them, your hand shatters into a million tiny pieces. 'I was a jackass, and more.' Another Death Eater sent a curse our way, until Zafrina snapped his spine like someone grinding stone into powder - even worse than the sound of shattered glass.

Fang and I flinched - it really did sound like the bone was being crushed. 'Selfish, stupid, prejudiced -' Fang wasn't a man of many words, but they were all spilling out now as he listed every mistake, every fault of his I had gone over a hundred times, every one that I decided didn't matter. 'But I lov-like you, and I don't want to end up as some vampire's snack before I go to - ARRGHH.'

Fingernails as sharp as razorblades had torn through his shirt. His hands went to his stomach, as blood trickled between his fingers, a line of crimson liquid trailing down his arm. He looked at his hands. They were completely stained. The torn skin ripped from his ribs to the edge of his jeans. Five deep slashes rippled downwards. He swore. I clapped a hand over my mouth.

'Stop!' My shriek pierced the clearing like a pin against a bubble. Even more impressively, everyone stared at me like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car. Emmett dropped an incapaciated Jane - her terrible gift was useless against Bella. 'It doesn't have to be this way.' My voice sounded almost like a plea.

'There is no other way,' someone insisted darkly. 'If you're suggesting we co-exist in some kind of false harmony -'

'That's not what I'm suggesting at all,' I replied in cold, steely voice, 'I know we can't exist in harmony, fake bullshit or not. It's impossible, like trying to slam a revolving door.'

'Then what's your point?' Voldemort said. It was deathly quiet, yet you could probably hear it from miles away.

'My point is that didn't it cross your mind you could get a blood sample from Itex HQ? I'm sure they have a blood bag in their freezer room.'

There a pause. Voldemort, sounding rattled, snapped, 'It has to be fresh.' He seemed on the verge of spitting out more, but held his tongue, but I was pleased I had irked him. And better yet, had him at loss for a good, logical comeback. Go me. Fang, still dripping blood, managed a smile that looked more like a grimace.

'If you say so.' I smiled, knowing that would irk him beyond belief. Predictably, he scowled. Voldemort did look like something you'd see in your worst nightmare - the ones you can't escape from, no matter how hard you try. He was so easy to irritate.

'You don't have to do this,' I said coolly, 'mortality isn't a curse, or hell. "We're born, we live a little while, and then we die". Life reaches it's peak, and when the world doesn't need us anymore, we leave. Death is inevitable - you shouldn't avoid it. You should love life, every moment of it, even when it's really hard to. Death - some people even wish for it.' I glanced at the Cullens - something gleamed and then dulled in the backs of their eyes. 'Trying to be immortal? That's just plain insulting to those who wanted - who were willing - to die for something, _somebody_ they loved.

A person who was in so much pain, inside and out, who wanted to die so that they wouldn't be hurt anymore. A woman who loved her unborn child who was killing her, so much that she was willing to die so her baby could live. Are you scared of death, scared that there is no heaven or hell, just a crushing darkness ... never being able to see the sun, or breathe air again.

Or are you just scared that there will be no heaven for you because you don't deserve it? Heaven is what you want it to be. I guess nobody would want to be near your heaven, Voldemort. You're pathetic - willing to kill so many others to get what you want. You disgust me.'

'Oh, _burn_,' someone, probably Emmett, muttered.

'You,' Voldemort hissed, 'don't know anything. You stupid, stupid girl. You are just one insignificant person in a world of six billion others - magic or mundane, tall or short, black or white, male or female, you're just part of the whole scheme of things. You're not as special as you may think and you're not truly unique, just one of a thousand duplicated others.'

'No,' I spat, '_you_ are so filled with hate you don't even know what love is anymore. You will never know what it is like to love anyone or anything because it doesn't exist for you. You hate the world, Voldemort, and I think you hate yourself, which is why you're willing to hurt so many others for some stupid reason.

You'll be truly alone, one day, and then you'll wonder what mistakes you made. And this is one of the hundreds: you chose to hate everyone. You scared them, bullied them. You're a horrible person. But you won't have anyone. And you know what?' I poised myself to deliver the strike that would destroy him like a wave crashing over a city.

'I pity you.'

A gasp rippled through the crowd. Voldemort's eyes shone with a dark light, like when a star explodes and all is left is the crushing depths of a black hole, wrecking the space around it. 'What a shame.' He turned, so all I could see was the black of his cloak. 'Kill her.'

Alice went to move, but Jasper's arms made a cage around her. I didn't blame him - he wanted to save her. Something razor-sharp, almost as metallic and polished as a blade sunk deep into my neck, a terrible ripping sound. I heard someone screaming - a high, unbroken note of pain, and realised it was me. Blood welled up in my throat, choking me as I struggled to spit it out.

Through blurred vision, I saw Alice trying to rip her way out of Jasper's arms. I tried to press my fingers to what felt like a tear, like something stripped away, in my flesh, only to have blood pour down my arms, drenching my shirt. Voldemort was at my side, letting blood fall like tears into a potion bottle.

'Such a waste, Maximum Ride.' And he was gone, and I was left alone with the pain.

0000000000000000000

**Alice:**

'Jasper, let me go!' I screamed. I pushed him away, and I ran to Max. The front of her shirt was a scarlet bib, as blood poured from her neck. Her lips were as slick as cherries. Vampire bites only left an imprint, but Max's neck looked like bits of thread. She opened her eyes, and screamed, her back arching in pain, especially when she saw how she was drenched in a pool of her own blood.

My vision had said she would be one of us - only if the blood loss didn't kill her first. My hands were bright red and I stopped breathing so I couldn't smell her blood. Carlisle was beside me, giving me his jacket to press to her neck. Blood seeped through the fabric, until crimson stained the blue.

I looked around - the Volturi and Death Eaters had fled. Many of our people as well - all except Edward, Bella, the packs and the wizards and witches, who could stand the scent. Max was close to drowning in her blood, it was welling up in her throat, her lungs, choking her. I could change her - stopping her heart could save her. I had forseen it - but the future was not written in ink. I had seen a person covered in shadow, biting her. What if that person had been me, only I never realised it?

'Alice, she's dying,' Edward pleaded. 'You're her favourite. She trusts you more than any of us. Bite her.'

'Edward, I _can't_. She would hate the life I gave her ... forced upon her like it was a gift I was bestowing. She would resent it more than any of us do. She would remember her humanity. The memories would not fade. It would hurt her more than any of this pain does.' Max screamed as blood now rushed from her nose and her eyes until her lashes clung with droplets of dried blood. She was soon unconcious and the thrumming of her heart slowed.

'A world without Max is no world at all, Alice,' Edward murmured. I sighed, drawing in a rattling breath. I closed my eyes, drawing her collar aside just above the place where her pulse beat, on the other side of her neck. I hated this, I hated _myself_.

I sunk in my teeth. Her eyes fluttered open, and she screamed - no, _shrieked_.

It felt like the world was shattering.

0000000000000000000

**Max:**

My body felt like I had just been crushed by an out-of-control train. Like I was drowning, desperately trying to inhale air until my lungs burst. Like dust was in my eyes, and I wanted to gouge them out at the roots. I was on fire, completely, and I had never felt so much pain. God, I wanted to die. I had thought the pain of the flesh being ripped out of my neck was bad.

_This._

You can't even imagine.

0000000000000000000

**Harry:**

'What if everyone dies?' Renesmee was on the verge of tears.

'Nobody you care about is going to die,' I said calmly, but fear rested in the pit of my stomach. That feeling of doubt - it makes you want to rake your nails down your skin, because it's not just some outer shell, it's bone-deep.

'What if I die? I'm not immortal. I age and grow.' She began to cry and uncertainty wavered in my mind. I didn't know how to deal with crying girls. 'I'm scared,' she sobbed, 'I don't want to be alone ...' I patted her shoulder, which surprisingly, made her cry harder.

'You're not alone, Renesmee.' Dumbledore had materialized out of nowhere. 'You have your family, your friends. You have Harry and myself.' Nessie brushed her tears away. I hesitated. Ness was strong, stronger than anyone gave her credit for, stronger than any little girl had any right to be.

I thought of Angel, fighting for her life, almost every day, it seemed, only seven years old. Yes, Nessie was strong. But not that strong. What happened if Dumbledore and I died in the next five minutes and she was by herself?

'Of course,' I said, forcing a smile. Nessie's eyes crinkled as she assessed my fake smile. I tried to make it more realistic, but I soon gave up, knowing I was failing miserably. Dumbledore kept walking, seeming unperturbed by the awkward scene. We walked in silence until I realised that in retrospect, we were completely lost. In the middle of nowhere, quite literally.

'What are we -' I began to ask, and then realised he might have an answer that I didn't want to hear.

'I found something I thought you might like,' Dumbledore replied. Surprisingly, he gave me a wand. _My _wand, the one I had been dreading to find snapped in half. As my fingers closed around it, sparks crackled like bits of electricity. I didn't want to know he'd found it, but for the first time in a long time, I genuinely smiled.

'Thank you,' I said.

'I expect you'll need it soon,' Dumbledore said absently, straightening his wizard hat. It had stars and moons spangled on it. At his words, I felt the "oh crap" feeling rippling down my spine, the feeling that had twinged me so often recently. 'We should have company soon.'

'What kind of company?' Renesmee whispered. Her eyes were wide, and I swear, I could see the weight of the world reflected in them. So young to be holding such ... pain on her shoulders.

'Nothing that will hurt you,' Dumbledore said calmly.

I wondered why I doubted him on that.

A few minutes later, I heard a noise. Like the earth was shaking under the footsteps of something larger than life and not necessarily in a good way. I heard leaves being crunched on, and it reminded me of someone crushing someone's foot under a car tyre, and the sound of broken bones. Renesmee pressed herself into my side. I kept my wand at the ready - something was oddly comforting about the fact I had it with me.

I felt worse when I saw who was coming through the trees like he owned the forest.

Voldemort. Flanked by two Death Eaters and the Volturi leaders, I didn't fail to notice.

'Tom,' Dumbledore greeted, 'Aro. Caius. Marcus.' He didn't acknowledge the masked Death Eaters - although why they were masked was an unforseen mystery to me. Why be masked when your face is probably covered in blood and bruises? 'I have destroyed the musical box.'

Musical box? My mind drifted back to Max's ghost story of the house that held the musical box whose music captivated everyone who heard it. The thudding inside the box that was like its heartbeat. And how everything ended in the kind of screaming that was the theme music to the worst kind of nightmares.

And then even further back - to the musical box in Sirius' family house that made everyone sleepy to the verge of death itself ...

Voldemort's face twisted - not in anguish, but in the kind of anger that made it look like everything was imploding into a hole so you were in nothing but blackness so dark you couldn't see your shaking hand in front of your terrified face.

'We are willing to let the girl and Potter go,' one of the vampires said, 'you must stay, Dumbledore.'

'I expected nothing else,' Dumbledore said. He looked at Renesmee and I with blank eyes - not the same X-ray eyes that practically seeped into your soul, but ones so emotionless I wondered if he was really empty inside. 'Take this, Harry.' He pressed an ice-cold key in my hand that looked like it was carved from ice itself. 'It will take you to the Cullen home. Go. Please. Take care of Renesmee.'

As I reached for Nessie's hand to use what I thought was a Portkey, Dumbledore said something that I knew I would remember for the rest of my life. It chilled me to the very bone and seemed to print itself in undissolvable ink my mind. 'Harry. Tell ... tell Alice what she did was right. Tell her _she _was right. It was never, never meant to be this way.

But she just may have saved us all.'

0000000000000000000

**Alice: **

I would never forgive myself. For all of eternity, this would be the moment I regretted most of all. Every little mistake, every big mistake - in the scheme of things, this one made them all seem trivial. Jasper put his arm around me, and I tried not to think of how I had pushed him away before.

Us Cullens and the flock were in the room - nobody could stand to look anyone in the eyes. I'd said the future was never set in stone - things _did _change as quickly as the weather did. Some parts of my three outcomes had come true. The sun glinted against the pillars of black smoke. Fang had been sliced - it was true that two inches higher, and he would be dead. Angel's leg was broken, but she had put her pain aside because she was so scared for Max. Rosalie had almost been set alight - I shuddered to think that right now, _she_ could be one of the piles of ashes.

But everyone was alive.

Max lay on a hospital table, her skin the colour of death, a colour that I only saw the corpses have in my nightmares. Rose and I had changed her shirt - the blood was a reminder of the life I had stolen away from her, like being a vampire was a gift, instead of some horrible, hideous reality. Her blonde-brown hair, bloodstained like in my vision, fell over the cold steel of the table. Her neck was no longer bleeding, and some of the skin had stitched itself together like an invisible needle and thread was patching her together. On the other side, where the puncture marks.

My puncture marks. I shivered.

_Bella, her body defigured into unnatural twist, lying on this same bed. Covered in blood and her stomach torn apart. The slowly thudding heartbeats that had stopped into silence. And then the slightest pound of life until she was fully Changed. _

I tried to stop the memory, but I could never forget the way her joints were twisted like some tortured doll, the way her stomach was ripped so badly I could almost see all her internal organs. I'd run, the blood was something that haunted me, still, after all this suppression. I'd remembered having a vision of Edward biting her over and over, Jacob restarting her heart, and the venom Edward had punctured into Bella's chest.

And how Bella had healed.

Like Max was now.

My second outcome vision rose in my mind. I'd thought Felix would bite her. That she would be dead for five minutes until the EMT found her faint heartbeat - the first sign of her clawing her way back into the world.

_"Within seconds, the EMT had found a faint heartbeat; barely existing, but the pulse was there nonetheless. It didn't stop, just small flickers but she wasn't dead. I gave Carlisle a triumphant look. He rolled his eyes. _

_'She'll really be dead in three days,' he warned. _

_'And then she'll be a vampire,' I replied. 'A vampire with wings. Well ...' I paused, 'that'll a new one.' _

_Carlisle sighed. 'She must be in pain,' Carlisle mused, 'but she's immobilised ... for now.' I wondered if this meant, that, in time Max would start screaming. Her__ breathing that sounded like air whistling down a swollen throat. Her eyes were still closed; but for a second, under the light, I could've sworn they were lavender, and glistening." _

I'd been wrong on that count. She'd never died, the EMT had always detected her frail heartbeat from the moment it was touching the place on her chest where her heart rested underneath. Max had screamed when my teeth had sunk into her throat, but now she was unconcious and like in my vision, her breathing was air whistling down her swollen throat.

And, like my vision again, I knew she would really be dead in a three days ... and then a vampire.

All my fault.

'Edward! Bella! Everyone get downstairs, now!' Jacob's voice. Fear was like a fist around my heart. Oh, God, not now, not now. Bella's face was a mask of fear. I barely heard Lupin and Tonks say they'd watch over Max, as everyone flew down the stairs like our lives depended on it. Out the front door, and then Edward and Bella were running into the yard, faster than I'd ever seen any vampire run. Harry and Renesmee.

After ten minutes of something that I could hardly believe was close to celebrating, Harry pulled me aside.

'Before we left, Dumbledore said I had to tell you something,' he said, 'he said to tell you what you did was right. That YOU were right, and what happened was never, ever supposed to, but it did. But he said that you may have just saved us all.'

'I rather think I doomed us all,' I said, 'I saw so many things. Only some came true, but I'm scared more might - ones that I haven't seen yet. I'm scared. I haven't saved us, I've just made things worse.'

'I don't think so,' Harry replied. 'Vampires run on blood like cars run on petrol, right? Aren't your family all linked by venom and not blood? And yet if Max's body had your venom in it - wouldn't she be family, too? There would be two Renesmee's. The spell won't work, because the venom wouldn't just be hers.'

'It doesn't work like that,' I sighed, 'Carlisle didn't change me. I don't know who did - a vampire whose name I never knew, whose face I can't remember. I am not linked to any of them by blood or venom at all - just the family bond we have. I am Nessie's aunt, and nothing more. Not even biologically her aunt.'

'It might just be close enough.'

'Maybe. But maybe not.' I paused, and there was a silence that I didn't know if it was cold, or just thoughtful. Whatever it was, it made me think of what he'd said and the smallest, slightest chance he was right. 'There's never been a vampire with wings. Vampire bats - just another myth. Which makes me wonder if Max being Changed ... won't work. She might become a winged vampire, that's true. She might just stay the same and be healed. Or, the biggest possibility, the one that worries me most, is that it will kill her after the three days.'

'Well,' Harry said, 'we'll just have to wait and see.'

0000000000000000000

**Third person P.O.V:**

'It's over, Tom. The box is gone.'

'Do you know what that box _was_?' Voldemort hissed. His voice was like honey over shards of ice; barely contained rage.

'I do. In the mansion that held the heavy price for such beauty. The mansion that had every what every vampire has; the most beautiful people you've ever seen. What every vain woman or man would sell their soul for. And isn't that the price, one soul? Just open the musical box with the heartbeat you can't escape from even if you wanted to, drink the potion inside - and if you live, you are worthy of that beauty. And if not, you are cursed forever. It's not a coincidence Maximum happened to tell that story, is it?' Dumbledore was composed.

'And yet the story is a myth. The potion does not contain the key to beauty, just a metaphor for power. Beauty is power, and the woman in the story - already vain from her human, blessed beauty, was just a metaphor for the selfish people who seek this power? The musical box, I charmed it, and then I burned it. It's ashes are scattered over the globe, Tom, from the highest volanco to the deepest sea. The potion inside is gone with it. I've heard of the spell. Add three drops of three singularly unique people's blood and you have that power.

If you are worthy. You have never been worthy, Tom. You would've been cursed.'

'I admit it,' Voldemort sneered, 'Maximum always knew of that myth, of the vain woman who did not consider her beauty as a gift, or good fortune, but merely something she happened to recieve. She heard it as a little girl, from all those experimentations in Itex, and she simply can't remember it. They thought it was a myth, too. But even if you've got the box destroyed, I have still won. Maximum is going to die. Any fulfilling prophecy is gone. The world can be ruled by those who truly deserve it.'

'Not while the three remain living. Fight them if you try, they are strong, they will live.'

'It seems as if you have come to the end of your time, Dumbledore.' Voldemort sounded cold and unruffled.

'I tried my best, and I succeeded. A price must be paid for so many to survive a war. Shall we agree - I die so you everyone else may live?'

Dumbledore and Voldemort grasped hands, as one of the Death Eaters bonded them in an Unbreakable Oath.

'You have done well, Dumbledore,' Aro Volturi commented. His face was emotionless.

'I have,' Dumbledore agreed. 'If you will, Tom.'

Voldemort moved so fast, it was hard to see him. He turned around as quick as lightning. 'Snape!' One minute he was apart of the trees and the next, Severus Snape had yelled the curse that would kill the man who'd depended on him. Green light, poisonous green, the colour of snake skin and antifreeze, hit Dumbledore in the chest. He fell from his position, crumpling to the ground.

'Not well enough, old man,' Voldemort whispered, as he deparated the scene, leaving Dumbledore's body upon the ground.

**A/N: If you have found any plotholes, or points I have not finally explained from the previous chapters, please don't hesitate to let me know. I have a few more explainations of things from previous chapters that I am adding shortly. To reiterate, these has covered the mystery of the musical box and the summary of Alice's visions. Thank you :) **


	31. A Match That Is Burning Out

A Match That's Burning Out:

**Max:**

Oh, the pain.

It hurt more than anything I've ever experienced. Broken bones - nothing compared to this. It felt like I was being crushed from the inside out, the burning seemed to last ... forever. I lay - was I lying? It felt more like I was contorted into an unnatural shape - in the blazing agony, unable to speak, unable to scream. It felt like my mouth was sewn shut.

'Alice ...'

No words were spoken. Just the effort made it feel like claws were scraping my throat. The burning pain didn't extinguish - and even trying made me wish I hadn't. Breathing - like I was sucking in air that stabbed at me like pins, rattling breath - was almost worse. Each inhalation of oxygen made me want to spit up blood. I lay in silence for a few minutes.

Suddenly, something, like a razor-sharp blade had pinned in my heart, like someone sticking a butterfly to a board. It literally felt like my heart itself - not just my ribs, or chest, or skin - had been punctured. And then it was on fire too. Oh, my God. And my vocal chords worked again as I screamed, and then shrieked.

'ALICE!'

My eyes flashed open, hit by a hundred lights. Oh, God, it was like being at the School, my worst nightmare, worse than the ones that haunted me everyday. I screamed louder, even though it felt like someone was ripping through my throat, slashing through with fingernails like steel. And then I remembered that someone had.

'Max! MAX!' Alice's cool fingers fluttered helplessly and then grasped my face. I realised my head had been snapping backwards and forwards as I screamed, which was making it seem like the lights were spinning out of control ...

000000000000

**Alice:**

This was all my fault.

I'd said it a thousand times in my head. It never seemed to make me feel better, for better or for worse, I counted this as a mistake. I regretted it. Suddenly, I heard a shriek, the kind of scream that could shatter glass. Max was thrashing, her back arching in agony. My fingers fluttered uselessly around her struggling limbs until I held her face. It was trembling, her hair quivering like it was alive.

'Alice, IT HURTS,' she screamed. She kicked out blindly, her foot snapping Carlisle's hand back. I waited for another bone to splinter but she was inflexible, like metal. The Change had begun. I could barely hear her heart now, straining to beat.

'I know, sweetie, I know it does.' Max's face was twisted in pain. Her eyes, once fathomless, were filled with rage. I could see the blood beating a violent tattoo against her neck, her skin flushed, like a fever. At the same time, her hands were so, so cold. Cold enough that it was chilled, even to me.

'No ... you ... don't!' Max snarled, and her nails scraped against my arms, ripping her way from my grip. I could see the scratches on my skin - her human fingernails were not strong enough, not steely enough, to leave marks. She was breathing heavily now, and then, just as quickly, she went still.

I couldn't hear her heart. The EMP monitor's blips, ones that had been thrumming frantically, far too quickly for a normal heartbeat, was a flatline.

'Oh, God,' I muttered, sinking back against the wall. I waited for her to open her eyes, whilst closing mine. Printed on the back of my eyelids, a vision arose - Max, upright like something unearthly coming back to life, slowly like a corpse who'd forgotten how to stand. Eyes like blood. Porcelain skin. And then the vision changed. The EMP. The flatline showing signs of life ...

_Bleep._

Wait. What?

This didn't make any sense. Every vision clearly showed her as a vampire ...

_Bleep. Bleep. Bleep._

'Max?' I muttered. Her fingers shifted and her eyelids fluttered briefly, before opening. Her eyes were brown. Max coughed, before struggling her limbs into coiling, and then sitting upright. A little slackly, but she was vertical. Nothing had changed. Well. As Carlisle moved the light, I could see small differences. Her skin was paler, her hair had highlights, and her skin looked as if nothing had ever touched it. Her heart beat. 'How do you feel?'

'I have a headache,' she said absently, 'it hurts like a bitch. And I'm thirsty.'

I breathed out a sigh of relief and went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

It seemed Max only had a few physical alternations. Perfection. Vampires were far from flawless in our eyes, but in a human's perspective, there was nothing blemished or assymetrical in a vampire. Max's skin was paler - almost Renesmee's radiant luminosity. Her hair was all the colours of the sun, and every time I looked at her, I found another shade that was impossible to name.

Her fingernails could cut glass. Her teeth were like knives. She could run and fly faster, not vampire fast, but her speed was just short of the blink of an eye. Breathe underwater infallibly - like she never had to come up for air, because her lungs simply needed less oxygen as the minutes passed. Like an adaptation. She could last hours on end, Carlisle had assumed.

He had no scientific explanation for this. He thought that because she had abnormally mixed DNA, genetically modified into a species that was once pure fiction and ideas drawn and then created, the DNA in vampire venom couldn't withstand the combination. Needless to say, it was invalid. So when she died for those few minutes, it was the venom only altering her to the point where it was barely noticable to human eyes. It had not modified enough to kill her for an eternity.

She was so lucky.

Others, not so much.

Almost a three days later, they'd found Dumbledore. Oh, it was so awful. I'd made sure Angel and Gazzy and Nudge hadn't looked. Being murdered by the Killing Curse, his corpse looked untouched - no coroner or autopsy would be able to reveal his cause of death. But his face was so pale and unearthly, like chalk. Unseeing eyes wide open and staring.

They'd arranged for his funeral. For a long time, many of the Order barely spoke, just acknowledgements. A few murmured words strung loosely together, answering questions on how they were with a simple, "OK" or "fine" or "better." A week later, although the funeral was approaching, they'd formed coherent sentences, conversing with minimal traces of emotions, especially grief, on their faces.

They even laughed at people's jokes, as the humans (or wizards and hybrids as the case may be), ate meals together, watched TV, played card games. The foreign vampires had taken the liberty of awaiting Dumbledore's funeral, so both homes were both expontentionally crowded. It was pleasant, although no-one could quite forget that there was an absence.

0000000000

**Max's POV:**

**The day of Dumbledore's funeral was awful. The beautiful weather seemed to mock us. **

The funeral was like walking into a tomb, although it was held in the Hogwarts grounds. Dead silence, except for crunching footsteps. I could hear people crying and whispering consolations, see people's blank faces or those who had their expressions scrunched up as they leaned into their friends. Angel's hand was furled in mine like a leaf, and I could sense her pulse beating in her thumb. Her face was screwed up as she tried not to cry.

My heightened sense of smell could detect the saltiness of tears, and I was momentarily mesmerised as I saw one teardrop fall. It was as perfect as any drawing, pointed at the tip like crystal, and then rounded like gumdrop at the bottom. On the way to the funeral, I had noticed that the smallest details made me stop and stare, oil slicks shimmering like rainbows on the road, tiny cracks in the pavement. I couldn't see particles of dust or little imprints on flower petals or things like that, but I had found a new appreciation for things that I'd skipped right over before.

I could also smell something that was like honey, and sunlight, if sunlight had a smell, that is.

Edward came to my other side, his head bowed. He pointed wordlessly to a seat near the front, chairs made of some kind of glowing ebony. Each had a single flower threaded through the back, a multitude of brightly coloured flowers on every seat in a row. They formed a congregation, like at a wedding, with a table at the altar. I sat down in a chair with a lily tied onto it, Angel with a pink rose and waited in silence.

A few minutes later, Nudge, Iggy, Gazzy, Fang and Total came down the funeral aisle. The boys were all dressed in black shirts and pants, and Nudge in a dress that only vampire eyes - and mine - could see, glinted violet in the dim light. Nudge sat on my other side in a chair with a yellow buttercup, Iggy in one with minuscle, delicate jasmine flowers, Fang in one with a purple tulip and Gasman in a chair with mutilcoloured daisies threaded artistically through the bars, and I immediately thought of Alice's obvious flair.

The congregation slowly filled with an extraordinary assortment of people, yet I knew all of the Order, yet many unrecognizable faces. I saw Tonks, her hair miraculously the vividest pink imaginable, like a beacon. Oddly cheerful for a funernal, but I knew Dumbledore didn't believe in dullness. I could also see the castle ghosts, barely discernable in the sunlight, yet shimmering insubstantially in the gleaming air. I glanced around, seeing Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny; Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom filling seats close to the pale blue edge of lake.

The staff and students filled the remaining seats, many students staring openly at the vampires. Several girls were looking at Edward, Jasper, Carlisle, Emmett, etc, openly, eyes slightly glinting with lust. Rose shot them a "back off, bitches" glare, before throwing me a warm smile.

Their beauty was clear, although most were avoiding shafts of sunlight like they would turn to ash in its glare. Most were residing in the shadows. All covens were here, even those who drank human blood; although they had scarves and shawls masking their mouths and noses from the scent. My eyes met Siobhan's bright green ones - they were also wearing coloured contacts.

It was deathly quiet, like nobody was even breathing. But I could hear the faint inhalations of breath, and a song. It was clear as water and tinkled like windchimes. Merpeople were in the sunlit water, singing in a foreign language, their rippled words weaving lyrics of loss and despair. Hagrid was walking slowly up the aisle, crying silently, tears streaming noiselessly down his bearded face.

In his arms, something that was Dumbledore's body was wrapped in a spangled purple shawl, like a cocoon around a butterfly. People were crying now, thick and fast. Many of the female vampires had the expression I'd come to know so well; pale and drawn and closed like a blank-paged book, the face vampires made when they would cry if they could. Hagrid placed the body on the table; and I realised with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that it acted like a coffin.

The pastor began to speak. He wove words that was only part of Dumbledore, not all of him. I remembered Dumbledore's blue eyes, that stared into yours like they could pierce through your soul. Like X-rays, and they always unnerved him. For some reason, that was my clearest memory, and the pastor did not even bring it up. There was a splash as the Merpeople broke the lake's surface, as well as centaurs in the slanting rays of light that managed to emanate into the dark Forest, and the pastor spoke on words of "nobility of spirit", "intellectual contribution", "greatness of heart", and for words so big, it meant every little.

Hot tears spilled from my eyes, and I felt a fleeting gladness, as quick as a bees' wings, that I could still cry.

When the pastor finished speaking, Alice flitted gracefully to the altar. Eyes followed her, many sparking with faint recognition. In a dress as dark as midnight to match her spiky hair, the precise colour of black ink, she looked much less than human, but nonetheless beautiful. 'Everyone,' Alice called, her melodic voice spiking into the silence.

'Thank you for attending today,' Alice's gold eyes flashed and I saw her sadness break through her facade, 'there are 500 guests here. Each chair holds a flower; no two are identical. By colour, type or shape, all are unique. We are all like these flowers; multicoloured or plain, large like a sunflower or small like a rose bud, nobody here is precisely the same. Dumbledore loved uniqueness. It was his appreciation for the world's differences. And, in appreciation of him, I ask you take the flower on your chair, and put it on this table, or this shawl. Please pay your last respects to a man who did not believe in greatness, but who believed you could be great if you chose to.'

Nobody moved for a moment. I untwined the white lily which was woven to my chair, and many people did the same. Silently, the whole congregation walked to the altar, and placed the flowers on the table. Within 20 minutes, the bare table was a multitude of flowers and only several of the stars gleamed through. I waited for Alice to speak once more, but instead, several people shrieked in unmistakable surprise.

White flames had engulfed Dumbledore's body, and the table. Higher it rose, like a pillar of fire, until it obscured even the brightest flower. It made strange shapes, but then the flames vanished into a white marble tomb. A shower of arrows soared through the air, falling short of the crowd. I saw through the merpeople dive back into the watery depths of their lake, the surface rippling, and then clearing glass-smooth, as if nothing had ever touched it. The centaurs vanished behind the tree trunks of the forest, and I heard the vague sound of hooves.

Almost everyone was crying, and the funeral congregation slowly filled back into the school.

000000000000

_A week and two days later._

**Alice:**

Back in America, the flock were still staying with us. Many of the vampires remained, although the Romanians had left after the funeral. Vladimir claimed he had distate for crowds, but Stefan merely said that they did not wander pointlessly around humans long. Hogwarts was on holidays, so Harry and co were in England. I was lounging on the white couch while I watched Max read aloud to Angel.

Fang was watching her too - it never escaped me how she was constantly his object of fixation, and how unaware she was of how much he stared at her. Always hovering protectively, like Jasper did with me, as if Voldemort would jump through the glass windows. I sighed. Maybe they would sort things out.

'Everyone, listen up!' I said suddenly, struck by inspiration. My family walked into the room, having heard me from wherever they'd been lingering. Edward's expression was one of horror, the one he wore whenever he thought my plan was too extravagant for subtler people. 'Oh, Alice,' he rolled his eyes long-sufferingly. 'Is that _really _a good idea?'

'Is what not a good idea?'

'A party!' I was almost dancing around the room. 'It's been over a week since the funeral. I think we should celebrate our victory.'

Carlisle considered this. 'Alice, isn't a party inappropriate?' he asked, thorough as ever. My excitement didn't deflate; I had already surged ahead. Esme smiled at my enthusiasm, which was far from being extinguished by 'inappropriateness'. I already had forged an answer, and more importantly, everyone knew it

'I meant a party to celebrate Dumbledore's life. I did not like the pastor's connotations. It was boring - he was putting disillusionment on Dumbledore, and rewriting Dumbledore to seem boring. He was fabricating Dumbledore's life to seem like it followed the rules entirely. He didn't mention that Dumbledore like strawberry herbal tea or ten-pin bowling. I think we should get everyone together and throw a party.'

Carlisle exhaled. 'OK, Alice. Nothing ridiculous. Or offensive. And no bowling alley,' he added as an afterthought, being aware of what happens when I do become inappropriately extravagant. Well. I call it "throwing one of hell of a party". Carlisle, Edward, Bella and Esme call it "going way too far".

'Yes!' I cried, my excitement dramatically rising. 'I'm going to need 80 rainbow balloons, 200 marizpan stars, and a ton of glitter, STAT.'

**A/N: As a disclaimer, I would like to say that some of the phrases in the funeral scene are not my own, but are from "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince", copyright J.K Rowling, 2005.**

**PS: Final chapter coming soon. xx**


	32. TwoWay Mirror FINAL CHAPTER

**A/N: Sorry this took so long. FINAL CHAPTER! **

_List of people in attendance at Alice's party (if anyone's interested):_

_Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron and Ginny Weasley. Dumbledore's Army: Hannah Abbott, Katie Bell, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Ernie Macmillian, Oliver Wood, Lavender Brown, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, Justin Flinch-Fletchey, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Parvarti and Padma Patil, Alicia Spinnet._

_Mad Eye Moody, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Andromeda and Ted Tonks, Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Fred and George Weasley, Fleur Delacour, Rubeus Hagrid, Elphias Dodge, Emmeline Vance, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Aberforth Dumbledore, Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones, Augusta Longbottom, Sturgis Podmore. Hogwarts teachers: Minervra McGonagall (Transfiguration), Filius Flitwick (Charms), Pomona Sprout (Herbology)._

_The Amazon Coven: Kachiri, Senna and Zafrina; The Denali Coven: Eleazar, Carmen, Kate and Tanya; The Egyptian Coven: Amun, Kebi, Benjamin and Tia; The Irish Coven: Maggie, Siobhan and Liam; The Olympic Coven: Carlisle, Esme, Edward, Bella, Alice, Emmett and Renesmee Cullen/ Rosalie and Jasper Hale._

_The wolves: (Jake's pack): Jacob Black, Quil Atera, Embry Call, Leah and Seth Clearwater, (Sam's pack) Sam, Jared, Paul, Colin and Brady._

**Max:**

'Is all this necessary?'

Alice iced a cupcake with a flourish and shot me a disapproving look. 'Max, of course it is,' she said, 'I don't think anything is too extravagant.' Edward and Bella shared a look.

'Like our wedding?' they said in unison, his sounding like an explanation, hers like an expletive. Alice frowned.

'Oh, Alice. My wedding is one of my human memories that will never fade,' Bella smiled. 'It was the best.' Alice's eyes lit up, appeased. She hugged Bella, brandishing the frosting wand. Edward stepped fluidly out of the frosting wand's path a second before it actually hit him.

'So, how many cupcakes?' I asked, gazing at the infinite pile of frosted cakes. Alice shrugged delicately. I knew she knew, but did not care. Her judgement was clouded by her love for edible cupcake decorations. Kind of an unimportant love, if you ask me. 'And do we need that many?' Alice blinked, like an excessive, unnecessary number of cupcakes had not really occured to her.

'Of course, Max,' she said, waving a dismissive hand. I knew better not to fight the inevitable. Alice wanted that many cupcakes; Alice was going to have that many cupcakes.

'So, who is attending?'

'Everyone who wants to,' Alice replied, and I took that to mean she'd invited everyone she knew and one guest. In retrospect, that could mean the whole of Gryffindor house; so maybe her infinite number of cupcakes were quite reasonable. 'So far, I have 80 confirmations.' I stared at her; 80 confirmations was almost on the borderline of impossibility. Could Forks even fit 80 people who were trying to be invisible to the crowded citizens of Forks, who knew everything about everyone? 'I invited all Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Ron's friend and our vampire friends.'

'Wow, Alice.' Was the best I could manage.

'Well. Cullens don't do anything by halves. I have a surprise.' Suspicison rose over me; Alice's surprise might be like, a marching band or worse, a marching band followed by a parade. Alice rolled her gold eyes expressively. 'Calm down. It's something cute and small. It's not like it's a rollercoaster. Carlisle said it would attract too much unwanted attention. Pity, because I have a friend in LA who has one that looks like a dragon and -'

'Alice,' Edward interrupted, 'a rollercoaster extends extravagance. It's almost inappropriate. It might even be illegal.' Alice sighed. Clearly, during one of their sleepless nights, he'd given her this speech before just to let it sink in.

'You are_ such _a party pooper, Edward.' Before he could retaliate, Jasper and Emmett walked through the door.

''SUP, _LITTLE_ SIS?' Emmett yelled, placing emphasis on the "little". He and Jasper were brandishing balloons that only he released. They drifted easily to the high ceiling; bright circles against the plain backdrop. I expected Alice to be pissed, he knew she'd wanted them colour-coordinated. But she merely laughed.

'Actually, I think I like them better loose,' she said simply. Jasper released his bunch, and soon, there were 50 hovering balloons, bobbing gently like small colourful sailboats. She smiled. With parties, as long as there is colour, Alice is not hard to please. She already had her bright pink iPod in Edward's music system, with a selection she called, "Alice's Top 200 Songs You Cannot Skip Past". I had seen the incredible musical diversity, and I found it astounding how she had so many artists I had never even heard of and how she contrasted them.

'Where are the flock? And Carlisle, Esme, Rose, Nessie and Jake?'

'Outside, struggling to carry party supplies,' Jasper said. His eyes met Alice's, and she nodded. Jasper lead me aside, as Alice and Emmett went outside, Alice yelling something about streamers shaped like lime green dinosaurs. 'Max.'

'Jasper,' I said seriously, trying not to laugh.

Jasper chose to ignore this. 'Max, I apologise if I have ever been ... harsh. Trusting people is ...' he trailed off meaningfully, 'I mean, the first time I became a vampire, I put my trust in the wrong person. Someone who I once loved - never as much as I love Alice. I closed my eyes to her cruelty. Then I left, and I met Alice, and it was like I was a blind man seeing the sun for the very first time. But I never forgot what I'd learnt - there are many people you can't trust, because there's a chance they'll let you down. So I'm ... sorry.'

Well. Jasper's revelation had thrown me for a moment. 'Uh ... okay,' I said, 'apology accepted.' Jasper smiled briefly, before wandering outside to calm Alice's rampage. Jasper and I weren't about to hug around the campfire, but I mean, if you order pancakes, and you get waffles, that's good enough and this ... understanding was good enough.

'But, Al, they're GREEN DINOSAURS!' Emmett waved his arms around to signify the great importance of streamers shaped like green dinosaurs.

'They don't match my colour scheme!' Alice shouted. The existence of a colour scheme was news to me, I'd assumed she was just going with bright shades. Edward raised his eyebrows, apparently in the same boat as me when it came to Alice's "colour scheme".

'Colour scheme?' Emmett was bemused. 'Al, since when has their been a colour scheme? You have rainbow balloons and pink cupcakes. How are green dinosaur streamers going to ruin your imaginary colour scheme?'

Alice opened her mouth and closed it again. 'Just make sure I have some paper cups to match,' she insisted, and scooped up several packets of glinting gold stars. Emmett smirked, and Alice shot him a withering glare that could've melted steel. He grinned even more widely, provoking her. Both Jasper and Rose rolled their eyes and Rosalie tapped his shoulder-blade with her fingertips warningly.

'Drama queen,' Emmett teased.

'You say that like it's a bad thing,' Alice wrinkled her nose, but her eyes were gleaming humourously.

'Only when I'm getting assulted for it,' Emmett said, in great amusement. 'You're cute. Like a pixie.'

'Save your Disney crap for someone else,' Alice shot back, but I could tell the "insult" was lost on her. She'd probably been called a pixie countless of times of who knows how many decades, and honestly, you could see the likeness to a pixie, even in her delicate frame and spiky hair. And it also probably had originally pissed her off no end, but she must be used to the constant comparisons by now.

'But it's so much fun with you,' Emmett insisted.

Alice rolled her eyes.

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'I think you've outdone yourself, Alice.'

Alice beamed. A day and a half later, the interior of the Cullen's house was no longer white - it looked like a paint-bomb had exploded, colouring everything in sight. As well as the multicoloured balloons, there were streamers hung on the walls in every colour imaginable. All the tables were covered in gold cloth, sprinkled with a smattering of glinting purple sequins and laden with food.

Esme had also outdone herself - for someone who didn't eat, her food could rival someone who'd spent their life attempting to achieve perfection. The food was exactly like a Hogwart's feast. I'd thought Esme would be nauseated by the food, but she wasn't. Angel had even helped her make a pristine tiered cake which Esme had spent a whole night piping marzipan flowers.

The cups were red and the napkins were lime-green. It looked like she'd spent months organising.

'The guests will be arriving soon,' Alice grinned. She danced over to the stereo system, and hit "play" on her iPod. Music filtered through the speakers, with the notion the volume was going to rise until the music rushed over everyone, deafening people with sound. '"Closer To The Edge",' Alice smiled, 'by 30 Seconds To Mars.' I must've looked confused, because she added: 'I really need to get you up to speed with music. Five's "Keep On Moving" just doesn't cut it in the party stakes anymore."

Edward, passing by with something that looked like dip, and didn't bother to hide his expression. '"Keep on Moving" was better than the Ke$ha/Bieber epidemic. What ever happened to '90s hits that took the world by storm without the lustful fantasies of teenagers and the haunt of MTV?'

'It got crushed by autotune,' Alice answered. 'Oh, and Ke$ha's music has a beat you can dance to. I have no excuse for Bieber, except he's made millions off his teen-romance music and that in itself, is lyrical genius.'

'Touche, sister,' Edward replied. The other vampires and the flock materialised, moving throughout the room. Nudge was almost jumping up and down. Some vampires were shooting her covert looks, either concerned for her "taking leave of her sanity", or looked bemused by her erratic behaviour. Amun looked faintly disapproving. Fang tapped her shoulder twice, and she settled done into quiet enthusiasm. I smiled.

The doorbell rang then, and Alice smiled. She flicked off the lights, extinguishing everything in darkness, so dark it was quite disconcerting. I could see spots of colour on the ceiling, and I was sure this was due to my new vision, or otherwise, everything else would be utter blackness. Then Alice's "surprise" showed itself: a disco ball fell from the ceiling, lighting everything in a luminiscent glow. Spots of coloured light danced on the walls. I couldn't help but grin.

Jasper opened the door as people spilled in.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny soon found me. The party continued, with people eating, talking, laughing. The music filtered louder - waves upon waves of sound crashing through the room. I didn't see anyone for long; people disappeared just as quickly as they arrived, caught up in the web of noise and laughter. People moved almost blindingly, disconcertingly, gathered under the disco ball.

People seemed relutant to dance, but Alice, Jasper, Rose and Emmett took to the dancefloor to a song called "Neutron Star Collison (Love Is Forever)" by Muse and people followed. None of them could match their grace, but it was like all the missing puzzle pieces had fixed themselves and everything fit so somehow, the crowded floor looked good.

Ron and Hermione & Harry and Ginny were paired up. Ginny winked at me as she glided past with Harry. They looked good together and I hoped they knew it.

'Hey,' said a voice I recognised even over the music as Fang's. I almost jumped a foot in the air as he sidled up to me. Even with enhanced hearing, he could still sneak up on me. That was unnerving; how silent his footsteps were even from a few inches away. I'd wondered a hundred times how he did that and still hadn't found an answer.

'Jeez, Fang,' I breathed. 'How are the scratches?'

'Healing,' he said absently, 'they stitched me back up. Carlisle said with humans, there would be scarring, but I just have blurred indents. It looks like a cat scratched me. How about you?'

I rubbed my neck. There was a silvery crescent where Alice had sunk her teeth into my neck, just a faint imprint. It would be there forever, but as it was only a few shades paler than my skin, it didn't stand out, like a tattoo. I would always tell people I had been burned there. 'OK. The scar isn't going to go away but I could be ...'

'Dead,' Fang nodded, 'I'm glad you're not. Dance with me?'

I nodded. He took my hand and went into the middle of the dancefloor, right under the disco ball. Which fueled my paranoia of it dropping and shattering into a million tiny pieces over our hands, but as we danced, I forgot about any possibilities of smashing disco balls or tripping over. I guess I was just caught in the moment, completely trapped, and I didn't care.

'Max?'

'Uh huh?'

'I love you.'

I froze for a moment. The silence seemed to be solidifying between us like ice. I wished for a moment Alice would make a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension, but all was left was the music blaring out in our awkward silence. My mouth was kind of dry. Fang opened his mouth, to take it back, I figured, but instead, I pressed my mouth to his and spoke a moment later.

'I love you too.'

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**Alice:**

'I told you, Jazzy! Look at them!'

Jasper smiled down at me. 'They look like us when we first found each other.'

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**Max:**

The next morning, we said goodbye for the last time. When the party deteriorated last night, many people were choosing to stay in the guest house. The vampires had chosen to stay in the Cullen Home, as most had feared their resolves would break with the smell of blood lingering too close, and the sleeping, vulnerable humans being easy prey. The witches and wizards were Disapparating shortly.

I hugged each of the vampires in the Denali and Irish coven and shook hands with the remainders, who did not like displays of human affection. The vampires left at daybreak, and in seconds, they had vanished, leaving no lingering trace of their presence behind them. Not even a snapped twig. The flock and Cullens hugged the Order, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna and Ginny, and they made us promise to visit.

'Max, this is for you.' Harry pressed something into my hand. It was a mirror. 'It's a Two-Way Mirror. I have the other. You can contact me through it, any time you want. Anytime you might need help.' I turned it over; the mirror was formed of fragments - it had been smashed before, and mended. I imagined it as glittering grit, lying like powder on the bottom of a trunk, and smiled that Harry had fixed this shattered mirror just for me. 'My ... godfather gave it to me before he died. I want you to have it.'

I hugged him, tightly. 'I'll be sure to use it. Thank you.' I glanced at Ginny, who was trying to hug Fang, who has never been a fan of hugs. 'Harry? Take care of Ginny.'

'I will,' he murmured. 'See you around, Maximum.'

The witches and wizards disappeared with cracks, similarily leaving no lingering trace of their presence. I felt tears burning the back of my throat but I refused to cry. It was our turn to leave the Cullen home now. Alice had packed us backpacks with everything. I put the mirror in one of the pockets, and for a second, I saw a green eye printed there like a picture slotted between the glass sheets. It winked. I looked twice, and it had vanished. I knew better than to think it was a trick of the light.

I put the backpack on. I hugged Jacob and Renesmee first. Jacob was burning, but Renesmee clung to me. Jacob let me pick her up as I hugged her. 'Thank you for saving me,' she said, her voice was clear and unbroken. I put her down so she could hug Angel.

Carlisle and Esme. Esme kissed my cheek. 'Be safe, my dear,' she murmured. Then Emmett and Rose. They double hugged me, Emmett close to crushing me into oblivion, Rose's golden hair quivering. 'I'm glad we're friends now,' Rosalie whispered, hugging tighter. I almost forgot how to breathe for a second; their embrace was as cold as ice and it chilled me to the bone. I didn't care, either.

Edward hugged me, and then Bella, who swiftly kissed my face. Bella had always been the one who was not subject to the appeal of bloodlust, the one who, except for Alice and Carlisle, could get near the scent of my blood at first without immediate agony. I hugged Jasper - was he holding his breath? Edward nodded next to him, and I released a small smile. Old habits died hard. Alice was the hardest to say goodbye to.

'Ali.' I clung to her, and she hugged me back. I was taller than her. I was never sentimental, but visions flickered past my closed eyelids, like they were printed on the backs of them, Alice over and over again. In my dreams, the Christmas Ball, forcing me into a dress, drawing her intuitive premonitions on paper, Alice saving my life. 'I'll miss you. A lot.'

'I'll miss you more,' Alice said. 'If I could cry, Max, I would. Take care of yourself, and the flock. Visit sometime. We're here whenever you need us; anytime at all.'

Five minutes more of tearful goodbyes, I broke the formation first. 'Thank you,' I said, speaking to them all. 'For everything.' I took a running start, and opened my wings. They were longer now, the morning light making the feathers glint with pale blue and green and yellow, colours I did not realise were rippled through the mottled brown and white like strands of thread. I rose steadily higher, with Fang, Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy and Angel in my wake, reaching above the towering tree-tops and the endless canopies. I could see the mountain view from here.

We turned and waved to the Cullens, before flying out of sight. I would miss them, but this would not be the last I saw of them.

'Where to now?' Fang asked.

'I don't know yet,' I said, smiling.

I angled my wings and kept flying.

**The End.**

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**A/N: Two years later, and this has been incredible. THANK YOU to everyone who has stuck with me throughout this crazy, confusing story and thank you for all the encouragement, constructive criticism and kindess in your reviews. Shout-out to Modern Day Rapunzel, Laura, without you and your support, I would still be stuck somewhere in the middle of this story. You've become such a great friend! :) And to October Autumn, who sent me the PM which made me complete this final chapter. I am no longer using this account for stories, simply beta reading, I am transferring over to **fallenoffwings **where I plan to work on my story, "I Will Try To Fix You", possibly after a small break from fanfictionland. Once again, thank you and lots of love, - Emma. **


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